


A Grave Misunderstanding

by july_heat



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1616180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/july_heat/pseuds/july_heat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  Of course John Watson knew that his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, was a werewolf.  The prick wouldn't shut up about it.  Well almost all of it.  Sherlock just happened to forget to warn Watson about the mating rituals and after an innocent meal, John finds himself living with a werewolf in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Folks! Just a few notes before we get into the story. First, this is an Alternate Universe of the supernatural sort. Werewolves are born, not made, and they have some interesting rituals and beliefs. I am toying with the idea of adding more creatures, like Fae people and such as well as alternating between John's perspective and Sherlock's.
> 
> When you are leaving review, please do so with the knowledge that I am taking some artistic license with this story. There is only so much research I can do for this tale as I am also researching for a Steampunk novel I am working on. I just want to keep this story fun. If you have serious concerns, please message me directly and we can talk it out.
> 
> If there is anything that you would like to see happen, let me know! So far, this will be a Johnlock story and will have some male on male sexy times. If you don't like, don't read.
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

It all started with a plate of bacon and eggs.

John knew Sherlock was a werewolf.  _Of course_  he knew about that since Sherlock wouldn't stop talking about it. He recalled the day at St. Bart's when Sherlock claimed the worst trait he had was playing violin at odd hours and not speaking for days on end.

And then once John agreed to move into 221B Baker Street, Sherlock had come clean about his lineage. For some reason, Sherlock launched into a thirty minute monologue-complete with pacing between the kitchen and sitting room- about the rich history of his werewolf kin immediately after dropping that hairy bomb on John. As John sat on the couch and struggled to come to grips with the notion of supernatural creatures, he was only able to get snippets of Sherlock's ramblings.

"…full moon rumor is just ridiculous, I can change whenever I want but sometimes…"

"….don't worry about dead bodies, I stay with Mycroft, the annoying git, when things get….."

"…odd mating ritual. But I doubt you'll see anything remotely like that. In the event you do, be aware that I present a…."

"…..you might want to invest in quite a few lint rollers as I cannot control the shedding."

It took John a full minute to realize Sherlock had finished speaking and was now looking at him expectantly. "Well?"

John blinked and tried desperately to recall what his question was. "Um, what?"

Sherlock heaved a gusty sigh as he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "I do hate repeating myself."

Shrugging, John tried to appear nonchalant. "Then I guess you won't be getting an answer."

"I merely asked if this had changed your mind about being flatmates." Sherlock's voice was dripping with irritation.

John bent forward, putting his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. How on earth was he supposed to answer that? From the gist of what John recalled, Sherlock was essentially harmless and would flee to his family estate when….if…..shit, what did he say? John could practically feel Sherlock's annoyance at his lack of response, so he came up with the best answer he could. "What exactly do I need to do?"

"Nothing." Sherlock spat out. "Weren't you even listening or was I speaking at too high of an intellectual level for your simple mind to keep up?"

Sherlock's condescending tone was really beginning to chip away at John's patience. "An hour ago, I thought humans and animals remained in one general shape." John snapped. "Now you are telling me there are fucking werewolves out in the world. Didn't you think that I might need a moment to come to terms with this before you just ramble on?"

"Don't be daft. Surely you knew that a caterpillar goes through a large transformation to become a butterfly. Same general concept." Sherlock said dismissively.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, Sherlock. Not the same concept at all."

The only response he received was an absent wave of a pale hand. "Fine. To answer your question  _again,_  you needn't worry about a thing except for explaining the extra fur that might attach to your clothing."

Several months later, John was kicking himself for agreeing to stay. Yes, Sherlock essentially saved his life by breathing some excitement into it. Yes, he managed to cure John's limp within a day. And yes, Sherlock quickly became John's best friend. For some time, John nearly forgot about Sherlock's werewolf side. Sherlock kept to his word and would escape to the country every so often to indulge in his wolf predilections. John nearly believed that Sherlock meant what he said that first day.

But the motherfucker lied.

John should have never agreed to care for Sherlock after a particularly bad case led to Sherlock shifting into a wolf for a week straight. Apparently, the scent of another werewolf tended to rouse the wolf inside his flatmate. Sherlock managed to solve the case within a day or two, though he declared it was hardly more than a 4 and had it not been for the wolf, he wouldn't have bothered. As soon as they had arrived to the flat, Sherlock stomped into his room. John made himself a cuppa and walked to Sherlock's door to offer him one when he noticed the large creature in the middle of the bed. Though John had an inkling that this would happen, he still was startled. Sherlock made a handsome wolf, John had to admit. John could see the outline of muscles through his fur, which was the exact shade of his dark hair and even had a hint of curl. Sherlock's startling blue-green eyes had grown larger, but otherwise remained the same. At that moment, wolf Sherlock looked absolutely mortified that John had seen him in this state. John finally broke the awkward silence.

"Didn't see that one coming, eh?"

Wolf Sherlock whined and tried to bury his face in his paws. John laughed. "Don't worry about it. Are you hungry? I can make you something."

At John's offer, the wolf looked up hopefully. The only other time John had seen Sherlock look so innocent was when he was trying to bribe John into buying him a pack of cigarettes. He took it as a yes and walked back into the kitchen. Unfortunately, Sherlock had been busy with his experiments. There were fingers among the one or two apples that John bought out of guilt over his rather bachelor diet. The milk had long since disappeared. What the hell does a wolf eat anyway? John thought idly. He opened the freezer and peered at the not-quite identifiable red meat. "Good enough." He whispered as he set out to defrost the lump.

About twenty minutes later, John had finished cooking the meat, which he was beginning to think it was some sort of beef chunks. Keeping it on the rare side, John dumped it into a bowl and walked back to Sherlock's room. Sherlock was no longer curled up in the middle of the bed. Rather, he decided to spread out on his back in a rather sunny patch of the floor. John set the bowl down. "I thought only cats did that."

Sherlock's stare was nothing short of imperious until he managed to look at the contents of the bowl. He turned his head, sniffed at the contents, and looked back at John with an expression of disbelief . John had never realized how expressive canine features were. "What? You don't want it now?"

John grabbed the bowl with the intention of taking it back to the kitchen. Sherlock instantly rolled onto his feet and took a hold of the same bowl with his teeth, growling. John rolled his eyes in annoyance and sat on the mattress. "Fine, you do want it. Eat up."

Sherlock thrust his face into the bowl and inhaled the meat within seconds. John watched in sick fascination. Sherlock then curled next to John on the bed, falling asleep instantly. He watched the wolf breath deeply for a moment before leaving, feeling relieved he managed to handle Sherlock when he was in wolf form.

If he only knew what floodgates opened with that small act of kindness.

For the next month, Sherlock had gone from slightly annoying to nearly unmanageable. He often strolled about the flat in wolf form. And John had to kick him out of his room more times than he could count. How the hell would he have known that Wolf Sherlock obsessively preferred to sleep at the foot of John's bed? John never thought Sherlock was one for cleaning, but compared to the excessive mess that lay around the sitting room every day, John would have thought Sherlock to be a neat freak beforehand. The constant mess and broken boundaries paled in comparison to the constant excuses.

"Jaaawn! I have to follow you to the loo. It's a wolf thing."

"Don't be so upset. I had to chew up those shoes. It's what I do!"

But then for as many times as Sherlock was nearly suffocatingly close, he had just as many days where he holed up in his room and if John asked after him, Sherlock's response would just be an icy glare.

And then came the bacon and eggs incident.

It all started innocently enough. John woke to the smell of cooking. Curious, he walked out of his room and down the stairs. Sherlock stood at the stove, a look of intense concentration marred his features. With careful precision, Sherlock scooped up the contents of the pan and transferred them to a (hopefully) clean plate. Once the food was safely on the table, Sherlock looked up brightly. "Ah, John, if you hadn't been standing there for the last two minutes and forty three seconds, I would have thought your timing to be impeccable."

Instead of walking the rest of the way into the kitchen, John hesitated. Sherlock immediately noticed and his once perked up expression faltered. "I know that I have not been myself lately. There has been a lot going on, but I expect that you have known this. I thought you could have some breakfast and we could, um, talk."

Sherlock looked nervous. If it had been two months ago, John would have felt concern for his friend. Now, he was just anticipating what Sherlock had done now and how long would this good mood-was it a good mood?-would last before John would have to start hiding his good shoes and locking his door. This small gesture was frankly too little, too late. John sat at the table while trying to figure out how to phrase his intentions to move out. Sherlock, still picking up on John's hesitations, timidly pushed the plate forward. John absently smiled as he accepted the plate. Once he took his first bite, Sherlock heaved a gusty sigh, smiled, and sat down next to John.

As John ate, Sherlock began to speak at a rapid pace. "Now that we've gotten this figured out, things can go back to normal. Well, as normal as I can get. There's obviously some odd behaviors that I cannot help, because of, you know, the wolf part of me."

Again with the wolf excuse, John thought. I cannot deal with this anymore. Between bites, John spoke in measured tones. "Now, Sherlock, this is hard for me to say." Bite. "I think you are quite brilliant and you have helped me in ways that I cannot accurately describe." Bite. "But how you've been acting the last month has been just too strange for me to comfortably." Bite. "Live here."

Tearing his gaze away from the breakfast, John saw Sherlock staring in confusion. He waited patiently for Sherlock to respond. The man had a response for  _everything_ , why is he silent now? Sherlock just glanced between John and the half-eaten plate. "But you….I gave you…and you…." He dropped his head. "I don't understand." Sherlock's words were barely above a whisper.

Before John could say anything, Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Lunging forward, he cupped John's face in his hands and pressed his lips to John's mouth. John was too stunned to move. He gasped as he began to feel the warmth of Sherlock's lips moving against his own. Sherlock took advantage of John's open mouth and slid his tongue inside, flicking it against John's tongue and dragging the tip across the roof of John's mouth. Sherlock tasted of tea and cigarettes, the flavor exploding on John's palate.

John heard a strangled groan and realized with a start that the noise came from his throat. He pushed Sherlock away, who tried to duck his head back towards John's in an attempt to prolong the kiss. Breathing heavily, John tried desperately to regain control of the situation. During the kiss, Sherlock had managed to plaster himself against John. John's eyes widened at the feeling of Sherlock's crotch pressed into his side. John was not sure if he wanted to blush or congratulate Sherlock at his considerable size.

A discrete cough at the door sent both men flying away from each other. Mycroft was leaning against the frame, his eyes cast towards the floor and a hand was pressed against his forehead to further prevent him from seeing his little brother practically on top of the odd ex-Army doctor. "Please disengage immediately. I have seen many horrible things in my life, but I fear this might scar me."

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock growled out.

Mycroft barely raised an eyebrow at him, choosing instead to keep his attention on John, who was still seated at the table. "Sherlock, perhaps you should let me talk to John. I believe I might have walked into a large misunderstanding and think it would help for him to talk to someone who is, shall we say, unbiased?"

Sherlock started to walk back towards John, sneering at Mycroft as he wrapped his arm around John's shoulders. "I sincerely doubt you can provide any help…"

"Actually, Sherlock, that might not be a bad idea." John mumbled and tried to avoid Sherlock's face.

Sherlock slowly dropped his arm. "Fine." He bit out. "When you two are done discussing what is clearly  _John's and my_ business, let me know. I am absolutely  _dying_  to hear."

He stalked to his room and slammed the door.

Mycroft shook his head at Sherlock's petulance. "My deepest apologizes for him, Doctor Watson." He walked closer to the table and noticed John's uneaten remains. "Sherlock made that for you?"

"Um, yeah. I think he was trying to apologizing for acting like a right git lately." John tried to decide if he wanted to finish the food. It would probably be considered bad manners, but it tasted quite good. "I was just telling him that I wanted to move out and he just overreacted."

Mycroft smiled sadly. "I'm afraid his reaction was quite reasonable, considering the circumstances. You see, John, when a wolfkin wishes to court another, they present a plate of meat to their intended. If their feelings are reciprocated, the intended will accept the meat. You basically agreed to be Sherlock's mate within the same breath of telling him that you were leaving him."

 _This was a courting ritual?_  John began to panic.  _Wait, a plate of meat?_ "Does it have to be Sherlock to initiate the courtship?"

"Of course not, Sherlock can be approached with an initiation. If he wants to proceed with such a person, he just returns the favor. In our world, the pair then begins courtship and the eventual mating process." Mycroft's tone was very matter-of-fact.

"Erm, Mycroft? I might have made Sherlock some meat the first time I saw him in wolf form."

The look the came across Mycroft's face would have been comical had John not been on the verge of a panic attack. His eyes bulged and his jaw dropped. In an instant, the shock was gone. Mycroft shoulders began to shake as he tried desperately not to laugh. He waved his hands at John in an attempt to excuse himself from the room. As Mycroft's cackling rang out from the stairs, John sat in front of the now offensive plate.

_What the fuck just happened?_

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock slammed the door behind him, furious that  _his_  John preferred the company of his fat brother.

_Was my kiss not enough? I've done so much research into the topic. Let's see, adequate pressure of the lips, check. Tongue was active and not too overwhelming. Hands were demanding, but not too hard for the situation. Based off my pulse rate and other physical responses, it was quite enjoyable for me. What am I missing? Why didn't John enjoy it?_

He flung himself onto the bed and curled around the pillow he appropriated from John's bed. Burying his nose into the scent of John's hair and scalp, he frowned.  _Why was he so confused? I told him specifically about the meat offering when we first met. Could he be showing early signs of dementia? He did not enjoy my kiss and his mind is beginning to rot, could those be related? That wouldn't bode well for our relationship._

Sherlock had been startled when John fed him almost a month ago. He had been perfectly content with how things were. John was the ideal roommate-not asking too many inane questions about werewolves but surprisingly understanding about Sherlock's idiosyncrasies. And John benefitted as well. Sherlock made it his first order of business to cure the man of his ridiculous limp. Honestly, how did a man who was shot in the shoulder even develop a limp if it wasn't entirely psychosomatic? If Sherlock were entirely honest with himself, he had been attracted to John for a while. It started off innocently enough. John had forgotten to bring in clean clothing to the shower one morning and thought he could make it upstairs while Sherlock was deep in his mind palace. Surely, it wasn't Sherlock's fault that he just so happened to sit up at the wrong moment.

Who knew John kept up with his military workouts? Now whenever Sherlock saw John-which was all the bloody time-he saw compact muscles and skin that was practically begging to be bitten. Still, Sherlock would have been able to resist if John had just kept well enough alone. Sherlock had no idea if he regretted the spontaneous transformation at the flat or if he was thankful for it as John clearly had not run off screaming.

_Instead he just claimed he was interested with a bowl of chopped up cow._

Sherlock groaned into the John-scented pillow. He had barely resisted the urge to tackle John at that moment and claim him on his bedroom floor.

 _How the hell could I have known John was unsure about the courtship ritual that he had started? If only he hadn't been so insistent on_ feeding _me. I told him that amount of concern for another person would just get him in trouble. And now I have something distracting me from The Work!_

In a huff, Sherlock flopped onto his back and eyed his still erect member with suspicion. "None of this would be happening if John had just listened."

While he was still debating if he had enough time to wank before dealing with John, Sherlock heard Mycroft's laughter coming from the kitchen. The outrageous level of abhorrence he held for the fat government employee had an instant response. Sherlock sighed in relief.  _Well, that took care of_ _ **that.**_

Pulling the pillow closer to his face, Sherlock could feel his blood start move south again. He instantly threw the pillow on the floor. "Nope. Bad idea. Not going through that again."

As Mycroft's laughter faded, Sherlock figured he had approximately 4 minutes and 24 seconds before John knocked on his door. And of course, John would want to talk. Sherlock sat up and immediately started to plan his argument. He straightened his robe, pulled down his faded t-shirt, and contemplated.

_Let's see. Fact: John did not know about the meat offering. Conjecture: This does not mean that he is not attracted anyway. He did respond to the kiss and even made sounds of pleasure, according to that one article, which I will never admit to reading. Plan of action: Stand close and note his reaction. Fact: John was quite comfortable living here with me before the last month. Hypothesis: John does not like it when I demonstrate poor manners and blame it on being a wolf. Plan of action: Explain the necessity of said behavior while attempting to look contrite and promising to improve my behavior from not good back to acceptable. Fact: John is still unknowledgeable about the nature of my kind, but likes to read mystery novels. Guess: John is not opposed to figuring things out slowly and making his own predictions. Plan of action: Offer to explain when the appropriate situation arises. Also, demonstrate positive reinforcement, i.e, smiling and nodding a lot while speaking in a higher pitch when he makes a correct deduction. Will need to work on smiling without scaring others, John is getting very good with his deductions._

Mollified, Sherlock ruffled his hair as he heard the tentative knock at his door. He remembered John's pillow was still within eyeshot and detoured back over to his bed. As he shoved the comforting John-scented pillow under two of his own, he heard John's voice.

"Sherlock, can you please come out of there?"

Sherlock scanned the rest of the room and with a start saw one of John's jumpers on his bureau.  _Why didn't I do this earlier? I knew John would come to the door! Stall him!_  "Why should I? Mycroft didn't give you the answers you were looking for?"

The telling sound of John deliberately slowing his breath indicated that he was struggling to remain upbeat. This gave Sherlock enough time to snatch the jumper-the oatmeal colored one, his favorite-and throw it in his sock drawer.

"Oh come on, I was confused and I didn't want to…" John paused to find the appropriate word.

Sherlock panicked that his rash move with the jumper messed up his sock index, but if Sherlock stalled longer, John would just walk in. "Hurt me? As if that were possible." Sherlock's voice was dripping with derision as he crossed back to the door and opened it.

John was leaning against the doorjamb. "Yes, I think it would be. Why don't you come out of there and figure this out?"

Sherlock mocked John's pose on the opposite side of the frame. He was scarcely more than an inch from his beloved doctor. "Why are you so concerned with me leaving my bedroom? I'm not going to throw you down and have my way with you."  _Yes, I would…shut up and look!_

John took a moment to respond as Sherlock used the hesitation for his own benefit. He peered into John's eyes, dilated pupils. He listened to his breathing patterns, shallow and fast-paced. Internally, Sherlock grinned predatorily.

 _Bingo. Now to make him feel safe._ Sherlock shook his head, as if he was clearing out a bad thought. "Apologies, that was rude of me. Give me a moment and I'll join you."

His mental grin grew as John visibly relaxed. "Sure, no problem. I'll just be on the couch."

 _Don't go overboard, still reassure John that you are the same._ Sherlock turned, as if he were retrieving an object. "I think I should be able to find you. Our flat isn't that spacious."

Once John was safely in the sitting room, Sherlock took a couple of deep breaths before catching himself and rolling his eyes.  _What are you doing? This is John…JOHN. Shit, this is_ John _, and we are going to discuss feelings. Continue the deep breathing and try not to picture him naked. Fuck, now all I can think about is naked John. ENOUGH! You are Sherlock Holmes, master of deductions and nearly one at disguise. You can handle talking to your flatmate and potential mate without developing an erection!_

Before Sherlock could think of other fantasies that involve the naked Doctor, he strolled through the kitchen and threw himself on the opposite corner of the sofa. John was sitting up straight and his hands were fidgeting on his denim-clad thighs. Clearly John felt as nervous as Sherlock was unsure. John looked anywhere but at Sherlock as he spoke in a gravelly voice. "So you want me to be your mate."

"Essentially, yes."

"I thought you were committed to your work."

"John, don't be ridiculous." Sherlock nearly snapped. "You're part of work. While I could have done this on my own, I have found that you've made it stronger, better even."

"So no worries of distraction during a case?"

"You haven't distracted me so far. What makes you think you would?"

John shrugged. "I dunno, I just thought" he trailed off. "You know what? Forget it, just a silly thought."

Sherlock saw right through John's odd sentence. "John, I know perfectly well that you can take care of yourself. There's no way you will distract me."

"Well, that helps."

"John."

"Yeah?"

"You keep speaking as though you've accepted what happened."

John gave Sherlock a crooked grin. "I do, don't I?"

Sherlock began to wonder why his heart was beating so quickly. He was seated quite comfortably, but it was as if he had been running across London.  _Wait._  "So you really are accepting my offer?"

"Yes, no. Shit. Maybe." John rubbed his face. "Sherlock, I'm straight."

"Me too."

"Seriously?"

"Absolutely. Completely straight. Of course, there is that pesky desire to continue to snog you."

"Sherlock"

"I want to start at that mouth."

"That's enough"

"Do you know how intoxicating you taste? I wonder if your skin is just as delectable as your tongue."

"We need to figure this out."

"I hope you like being bitten. For some reason, I seem to be fixated on nibbling right there." Sherlock ran his finger along the junction between John's neck and shoulder.

John visibly shuddered. "You have no intention of talking about this, do you?"

Sherlock responded by sliding closer to John and licked the side of John's neck before softly biting his earlobe. "No."

Before Sherlock could commence a proper snog, John gripped him by the shoulders. Sherlock felt a white hot rush of heat sear from his arms to his very core. John leaned in close, his lips millimeters away from Sherlock's ear. "Down boy." He whispered.

Sherlock looked at him with curiosity and John took pity. "You need to listen. I'm straight. I don't know how or why, but I'm really attracted to you." Sherlock tried to move John's arms away and get in closer. "Sherlock, stop. We can really bugger this up if we don't do it right. Is there any more to this wolf courtship that you haven't told me?"

"The rest is entirely physical and it's hard to screw that up."

John nodded. "Right. Well then, I propose a compromise. I will keep my acceptance of your courting offer, but before we get into anything permanent, you need to undergo some human rituals."

Sherlock snorted. "And what sort of simple-minded, superficial nonsense are you thinking?"

"How about a date?"

"Like dinner and a movie?" Sherlock weighed his options. He'd rather pull out his skull and set it next to Billy on the mantle before something so ordinary. But it was what John wanted. "I suppose I could make an exception."

"I appreciate the offer, but I was thinking of something more your speed." John pulled out his mobile and tapped it on the arm of the couch.

"Like what?"

"How about we start off at a crime scene? Greg just texted before you got out here."

Sherlock leapt off the couch. "We're missing a case?! Why didn't you say something sooner?"

He ran into his bedroom, John's delighted laughter trailing behind him. Flinging off his clothes, Sherlock finally realized there was a single body part he had been neglecting. He turned his attention to his raging hard-on. Sherlock rubbed his thumb across the head of his cock and stifled a moan. Finally, he wrapped his hand around the base and started to stroke up and down while imagining it was John's hand that was making him squirm and pant.

 _Fuck, the things I want to do to that man._  An image on John on his knees, deep-throating Sherlock's cock floated into his mind. It was too much for Sherlock to think about and while biting his lip to keep the sound to a minimum, he came into the wadded up t-shirt. Conscious of the time, Sherlock threw on black trousers, a white button down, and a black jacket before strolling back out to the front door to don his favorite coat. "I trust Lestrade gave you an address?"

John grunted an affirmative. Sherlock turned to face him with a mischievous grin. "By the way, I'm not wearing any pants."

As Sherlock descended the stairs, John brushed past him. "Neither am I." He whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Technically, the story is done, but I can always make adjustments!


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

John's POV

As soon as Sherlock back into his bedroom, John leaned back into the couch, slightly stricken.  _I was going to break things off before they got serious. What the hell happened?_ As if adding salt to the wound, John's cock remained rigid and throbbed within the confines of his jeans. John unconsciously ran the heel of his palm against the hardness between his legs.  _I just told Sherlock that I wanted to go on dates. The man barely knows how to socialize and now he is supposed to woo me?_ John smiled at the idea. He instantly began to form pictures in his mind. Sherlock sitting across the table after a case, the two of them holding hands. John insulting Anderson for calling Sherlock a freak and Sherlock giving John a shy smile when everyone's backs are turned. John and Sherlock snogging in a dark alley right after chasing down a suspect. John clutching at Sherlock as he captured John's gasps and moans with his mouth, mid-coitus.

John was brought out of his daydreaming as he realized that he managed to work off his jeans and was furiously thrusting into his fist. John was hovering at the edge of a powerful orgasm. His legs were spread and shaking as his hips were pumping upwards to match the strokes of his hands. John's mouth was open and light keening noises were tumbling out recklessly. It was then John decided that his body and heart had made up their minds about the situation and it was definitely  _not_  what his brain came up with.  _Fuck it._ John tightened the grip on his cock and felt the arousal spread throughout his whole body as if someone injected hot lava into his bloodstream. As the tip of his penis began to leak precum, John moved the hand that had been covering his mouth ( _How did that get there?_ ) and cupped his balls. While tugging at his sack, John glanced at the clock.  _How long has Sherlock been in his room? What if he walks out and sees me like this?_  Almost on cue, John heard a faint moan coming from Sherlock's room. Knowing Sherlock was getting off at the same time shoved John over the edge. John's eyes rolled to the back of his head, his body convulsed, and the heat that was once rolling through his limbs sped to his crotch and erupted. "Oh god, Sherl…mmmm, fuck."

Even mid-orgasm, John had the presence of mind not to call Sherlock's name. The berk would never let him live that one down. After John managed to come down from his high, he noticed he had never taken his boxers off. Knowing he only had moments until Sherlock reemerged, John stripped his pants off and used the soiled garment to finish cleaning the streaks of cum off his hips and stomach. His trousers were pulled on within a split second as were his shoes. John sprinted to the bottom of the stairs and pitched his boxers up to his room. He stepped back into the door and reached for his jacket, as if he were getting ready to leave instead of hiding evidence of a desperate wank.

* * *

Date attempt #1

"Perhaps if you could tear your eyes away from Donovan's arse for a full minute, you would have noticed that the stab wounds in our victim are angled entirely wrong for the chef to have done it!" Sherlock paused from his full-on rant to Anderson to take a breath.

Anderson had been convinced it was an open and shut case. The ex-girlfriend of the head chef at Launceston Place was found dead in the women's loo. Her chest held no less than twenty stab wounds. According to one of the servers, the relationship had ended horribly. The head chef was allegedly extraordinarily possessive and had a history of stalking. So therefore, Anderson would not let Sherlock rest for long. "So the chef held the knife at a different angle, but that also still means that he is guilty!"

"Actually, the angle should exonerate him. The chef is substantially taller than our victim. If he would have done it, he would have had to stand at a distance. The knife would be held vertically and at a downward angle to hit her in the chest. Had he intended to stab her straight on, that is without an angle, he would have had to aim for her stomach. Clearly, our assailant was the same height as the victim. Now go back to the bartender and ask her why she has already changed out of her work clothing. Once she starts stammering over her words, arrest her for murder." Sherlock was halfway to the door before he finished his statement.

Unfortunately, Sven, the head chef blocked his exit. "You must stay! I will cook you and your partner the best meal that you've ever tasted as thanks for your help!"

And that is how Sherlock and John wound up sitting at a tiny table in the middle of the kitchen as Lestrade and his men finished taking statements, the body was removed, and the area was cleaned. As they ate Sven's "special dish," which was chicken with….something, the two men avoided the snarky glares as they ate as fast as possible. Well, John ate as fast as possible. Sherlock pushed his food around and counted down the minutes until John determined that it would not be too impolite to leave. Finally, after the third time Sherlock whipped an asparagus stalk at the turn-ups in Anderson's jeans, John wiped his mouth and threw the napkin down. "Fine, you inconsiderate clot, let's get out of here."

As they made their way to the street, Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's waist and nuzzled his face into John's neck. "Was that a date?"

John smiled, ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls, and kissed his forehead. "Not a chance." He whispered.

* * *

Date attempt #2

Two days after the restaurant incident, John stretched as he finished typing the story of the Bad Attitude Bartender. He was glad to have the odd day off. Sherlock had been gone for the better part of the afternoon. John assumed he had gone to Scotland Yard. However, as he was moving to the couch to watch some Top Gear, he heard Sherlock taking running leaps up the stairs. With seconds, Sherlock's elated form burst through the stairs. "John, I've got it!"

Noticing the bag captured in Sherlock's hands, John could not help but remark. "You did indeed get it. Question is, what have you got?"

"I was nearly losing sleep trying to figure out how to create a date for you. But then it hit me, there was something that you've been after me for  _months_  to do. So I did it." Sherlock was grinning like a 5 year old as he brandished the bag.

John hated to say anything to cause Sherlock to dim his smile, but he felt like he had to say it. "Sherlock, usually for dates, both people need to attend."

"Well, I know that! We can have our date here."

"At the flat?"

"Of course, I can't think of a better place. Anywhere else, I run the risk of getting distracted by idiots, or worse."

John squinted in confusion. "What is worse for you than idiots?"

Sherlock shuddered. "Fangirls. Most of the time, they are slightly amusing, but not when I want to focus on you."

"Fair enough. So what are we dining on for our in-home date?" John was much more interested in what Sherlock could have finally purchased than he wanted to let on.

Sherlock reached into the bag and pulled an object out, setting it down on the coffeetable. John took one look at it and started laughing until tears were running down his face. Sherlock stood awkwardly, wondering what was so funny. After a few minutes and only moments before Sherlock was into a good sulk, John stopped laughing, breathing heavily to help the giggles that still threatened to spill out down. Rather, he forced himself into silence as he was beginning to worry about the safety of his intestines. Standing, he walked over to Sherlock and pressed a light kiss onto his lips. "It is the greatest gift you could have gotten me."

Sherlock huffed. "Clearly not, if you feel the need to laugh at my attempts."

He spun on his heel and stalked into his bedroom.  _Why does he insist on retreating there every time he tries to make a point?_  John heard Sherlock fling himself onto the bed and knew the detective did not crave solitude. John pressed his lips tightly together in hopes he could silently pick up the quart of milk to take to the fridge.

Once the milk was tucked in next to some old takeaway, John journeyed to Sherlock's room. Sherlock was curled up in wolf form, staring derisively at the door. John sighed as he looked back. "I'm sorry if you thought I was making fun of you. It was not my intention. I appreciate the thought you put into going to Tesco for me."

Sherlock did not turn back into human form, but then again, he didn't growl or turn away either. John took this as an invitation to go further into the room. He calmly walked over to the bed and crawled in behind Sherlock. Wrapping one arm around Sherlock's belly, John used his other hand to softly scratch behind his ears. Sherlock snuffed and let out a low whine. John chuckled. "I can only imagine how many morons you had to deal with while waiting to pay."

Turning, Sherlock looked at John with wide, hopeful eyes. John shook his head. "No, this doesn't count as a date either, but I still appreciate the sentiment."

John felt, rather than heard, Sherlock's annoyed sigh. "Yes, Sherlock, even you are not above sentiment all the time."

Finally, Sherlock rolled over, pushing John on his back, and rested his head on John's chest, a nervous question on his face. John made himself comfortable and covered the both of them with a blanket.

"Of course, I'll sleep here tonight."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N (again) Want to send more love? Leave me a review. Think something can be better? Leave me a review. Have a fabulously sexy idea for some attempted dates? Leave me a review. You know you want to...give into the intoxicating sensations of writing words in my review box.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock's POV

Date attempt #3

Sherlock knew he was a genius. He could pick a computer programmer out of a crowd, just by looking at his tie. He could manipulate nearly everyone around him to do his bidding and make it seem like it was their idea. No criminal could get away with any crime. No murder would go unsolved as long as Sherlock got to study the scene before the imbeciles at Scotland Yard mucked the evidence up. He could, and often did, deduce individuals down to every virtue, every sin, every want, and every desire. There was nothing Sherlock Holmes could figure out within seconds.

So it was quite curious for Sherlock to resort to searching "date ideas" on the computer.

"Of course I want date ideas for couples, what other options are there?" Sherlock exclaimed with annoyance. "Ah, yes, 50 date ideas. Let's see if Redbook is slightly above the national abysmal intelligence."

"Gah! I don't want bloody ads, I just want to get this over with as fast as possible!"

"Learn to dance? Um, no."

Sherlock glanced up at the door. John was at work and wouldn't be back for hours. Mrs. Hudson was having lunch with some friends, girl's luncheon, she calls it. Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing that the girls' luncheon always included an excessive amount of spirits. Turning his attention to Billy, Sherlock surmised "Good thing they're out. I believe Mrs. Hudson gets nervous when I start talking to you."

Billy said nothing, which isn't unusual for the skull. Sherlock smiled at his favorite confidant and began clicking through the article.

"Be a little silly? How is partaking in shared interests silly? Clearly, I'm getting nowhere on this one. Better look at the next to be sure. A Drunch? That's it. This website has officially failed."

"Alright, this one seems slightly better. They did agree with John that it is better to do something that allows for conversation. Bowling? Last time I went bowling, the employee tried to force me to wear those horrible shoes. Then I deduced his internet port addiction and was promptly thrown out. Hiking?" Sherlock stopped to consider.

He immediately thought of all the scents from the local wildlife. In the city, Sherlock was fortunate that animal smells were generally covered by the scents of industrialization. The last thing he wanted was to wolf out in front of John because a squirrel wanted to be cheeky. "Better skip that one."

"The Aquarium? I suppose John would grow tired of me constantly correcting the workers there, again."

The more Sherlock clicked around, the more he realized how fruitless his efforts were turning out to be. "No, no, god no, boring, are you kidding me? Ice skating?! Morons."

Sherlock slammed the laptop down and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is hopeless."

To refresh his brain, Sherlock made his way to the kitchen where his latest experiment was laid out. Soon, he was completely focused on examining the effects toenails had in various substances. Idly, he reached for the chlorine mixture and frowned into the beaker. "I wonder if I have enough to create a hot-tub like solution."

Going through his supplies, Sherlock found the correct ingredients and began to mix. He then set the new solution onto a Bunsen burner to heat up to an appropriate temperature. It was then that Sherlock heard the chiming noise coming from his mobile. Distracted, Sherlock studied the picture Lestrade sent. He thought for a moment before sending back a reply.

**No. Those shoe prints look too steady. If she would have been walking through the puddle, there would be indications of slipping. Clearly, the mother walked through the kitchen before the incident occurred, which matched up with her statement, not the uncle's though.**

Satisfied, Sherlock put his phone back down and returned to the kitchen table.

Only to find it on fire.

In Sherlock's defense, it was quite a small fire. The solution on the burner boiled over the beaker and managed to catch alight on the flame. It then proceeded to spill over to the notebook that Sherlock had been using to record his findings. Sherlock, unflappable, quickly set out to smother the fire. It was fixed within mere moments. Honestly, there hadn't been much damage. Just a little smear, ok, a large burn mark on the centre of the table. But it could have been much worse.

Too bad, John picked the wrong day to leave work early. Once Sherlock handled the fire, he looked up and noticed John standing by the door. He had been in the middle of hanging his jacket up on the hook when he saw the flames.

_Definitely not a date. Must save this._

Sherlock grinned crookedly. "Not good?"

John studied Sherlock silently. Sherlock tried to appear nonchalant but grew nervous the longer John stayed quiet. He tried to deduce as much as he could.  _John is breathing deeply and in measured amounts. He's upset, but trying not to yell. His hands are not flexing or rolling into fists, so he doesn't have much longer until he is calm and rational. Conclusion? He's waiting for me to offer a solution first._ Sherlock brightened with realization. "This table was quickly becoming decrepit. I say we stop at a shop and get Mrs. Hudson a new one? She'll be happy to think that we are making improvements to the flat."

Sherlock saw John move into a regular breathing pattern, but still did not respond.  _What else am I missing?_  "I'll pay, of course."

"Well, with an offer like that, how can I refuse?" John pulled back his jacket and put it on.

Sherlock relaxed and tried not to stare at how much his brown coat clashed with his red and black jumper. He walked over to retrieve his Belstaff, moderately thankful for the foresight to have gotten dressed this morning. As they made their way down the stairs, Sherlock realized with a pang that they would be going out. "Is this a…"

"Nope. Absolutely not. Not even in the slightest." John declared, but still took Sherlock's hand.

* * *

Date attempt #4

"Well, I couldn't have done it! I'm too recognizable, thanks to your blog. Ferdinand would have seen right through my façade." Sherlock sneered as he followed a rather pissed off John down the sidewalk.

"The clubs are dark for a reason, Sherlock! One decent hat and a pair of blue jeans would have hidden your identity well." John shoved his hands in his pockets and picked up his pace.

"What does blue jeans have to do with this?"

"Because you never bloody wear them!"

"Well how would male strippers know that?!"

"Will you keep your voice down?" John shouted before lowering his own tone. "I've just gotten used to the idea dating  _you_ , but making me get a lap dance  _while you were sitting next to me_ because you thought I could get more information out of that man…." He trailed off.

Startled, Sherlock caught up to John, grasped him by the elbow and led him to an alley. John followed and leaned up against the brick wall, refusing to look Sherlock in the eye. Sherlock cupped John's face with his hand. "What are you uncomfortable with? Getting a lap dance from Ferdinand or knowing that I saw you?"

John opened and closed his mouth several times as if he was trying to speak, but no words came out. Finally, he covered Sherlock's hand with his own. "Honestly?" he asked.

Sherlock gazed deeply into John's eyes. The lines on his brow deepened as he nodded. "Of course, I would expect no less."

John licked his lips and Sherlock found he couldn't tear his gaze away from the man's lips. "Okay." John whispered. "The part that I was uncomfortable with was…"

"Yes?"

"The fact that Ferdinand looked more like Chris Farley than what I was expecting in a stripper." John smirked at Sherlock's blank expression.

He then brought out his other hand, which held his smartphone. "I took the liberty to pull up the Saturday Night Live clip. One of the American blokes in Afghanistan showed me once and I never got it out of my head."

As he played the video, Sherlock squinted at the screen. "That does look remarkably like Ferdinand. But why were you uncomfortable? Was it the extra weight?"

John, between chuckles, replied. "It was more an issue with the extra body hair and odor. Why did you pick him out anyway? It's not like he knew much."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to be uncomfortable. "Maybe I made a mistake, it happens, ok?"

"Oh my god, Sherlock." John laughed. "You didn't want me to talk to an attractive one! I was too busy with Ferdinand and it distracted me while allowing you to observe the others."

Sherlock crossed his arms. "Can you blame me? I thought at least three of them were going to throw themselves at you. None of them know that you're mine and I hate it."

John thought he'd never see the day in which Sherlock was jealous of the attention directed at him and suffered from a bout of low self-esteem because of it. He decided right then and there that he hated it. "How can I help?"

Lowering his head, Sherlock's face was hard to see through the curls. He muttered something that John could not quite hear. John pushed his hands through Sherlock's curls. "Sorry love, what did you say?"

"IsaidIwantedtoscentyou." Sherlock managed to get the words out before looking shell-shocked by the fact he actually admitted it.

"I've been doing some research on it. That's where you try to change my scent by rubbing yourself on me?"

Sherlock smiled, his eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. "It's a bit less unhygienic than that, of course.  You've been researching?"

John couldn't help but smile back. "Of course I have."

"And you want to…?"

"Yeah."

"Tonight?"

Wrapping his hand around Sherlock's, John reached up and kissed him softly on the lips. "The second we get back to the flat."

They walked in silence for a moment before Sherlock turned to John. The doctor didn't even slow his pace. "Nope, not even close, not anything like a date."

Smirking, Sherlock draped his arm over John's shoulders. "Yet, I still am managing to get you into my bed."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello my lovelies! ThankyouThankyouThankyouThankyou SO MUCH for the reviews! They make my heart smile.
> 
> Fair warning: SMUT! I'd like to call it my scenting and sucking chapter.
> 
> In the next few chapters, I would like to add a little more plot. Originally, I thought the whole relationship between John and Sherlock would have a few more ups and downs. However, those little lovestruck bastards just wouldn't listen to me!
> 
> Enjoy the porn!

The confidence Sherlock had shown on the way back to Baker Street quickly evaporated once they entered the flat. John wasn't faring much better. After they stepped through the door, both busied themselves by making a large production of taking off their coats and shoes. Once John ran out of outerwear, as Sherlock had a distinct advantage of unravelling his scarf, he looked to Sherlock with expectancy. "Um, where should we do this?"

Sherlock's knuckles tightened slightly as he hung up his blue scarf.  _Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say 'tsayitDon'tsayit._ "Perhaps we would be more comfortable on my bed."  _Damn it!_

John swallowed nervously as the lines in his forehead deepened with concentration. "Right, the uh, bedroom."  _Jesus John, where else did you think this was going to happen? The sodding toilet?_

"Of course, my bed is larger than yours and would accommodate the two of us quiet comfortably. Also, the sheets are already saturated with my scent, so I don't have to work against yours to properly scent you and…" He trailed off when he noticed how stiffly John stood. Sherlock mentally steeled himself before saying. "If you have changed your mind about this, I understand."

John had anticipated that Sherlock would give him an out before he had actually said it. With those extra moments, John was able to feel confident with his answer. "No, not at all." John grinned as he saw Sherlock relax. "Just a bit nervous, I guess."

As Sherlock bent down to kiss John (to diffuse the tension, honestly), John started to turn towards Sherlock's bedroom (really, just wanted to prove that it was all good.) And that was how Sherlock found himself with a mouthful of John's hair. He froze with mortification.  _There's no way John is letting me scent him now. Get it together!_ To his delight, John laughed. "I didn't realize my hair was tempting you so."

John turned his head back, stood on his tiptoes a bit, and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. Sherlock made a contented noise at the back of his throat and pressed his hand to the back of John's skull. He loved how John tasted of tea and mint and wondered if it changed with different scenarios. Satisfied with his new experiment, Sherlock deepened the kiss by wrapped his arm around John's back. His fingers digging into the skin.

Now pressed against Sherlock from knee to shoulder, John clung to him. He knew that his flatmate had soft lips, who  _wouldn't_  notice it? But as they managed to wrangle out a contented moan from John, he realized Sherlock's mouth had a life of its own. When he felt Sherlock's tongue caress his own before flicking his lips, John lost all sensation in his legs. John wanted to bypass the scenting, the dating, everything and just let Sherlock claim him.  _Where the hell is this coming from? How could I have never realized how badly I wanted him?_ John pulled away before he lost all sense of propriety. "Bedroom." He choked out. "Now."

Sherlock groaned audibly at John's voice. As John's need grew, his voice lowered and became hoarse. Sherlock filed the information away for later and practically shoved John down the hallway, his front practically glued to John's back. John tried to keep up with Sherlock's gigantic steps at the same time as he reveled in how Sherlock's body felt. If the raging hard-on was any indication, Sherlock was just as wound up as John. He couldn't help but let out a relieved chuckle. With John's amused laughter in Sherlock's ear, they broke through the door and Sherlock shoved it shut with his foot. Sherlock quickly took stock of the situation before deciding his next moves. He nuzzled the skin under John's right ear. "It won't work if you feel uncomfortable so it is imperative that you let me know when you feel the slighted amount of doubt."

Though John tried his best to listen to Sherlock's words, his brain was short-circuiting at the sensory overload happening right under his ear. "Yeah, sure, no problem."

Sherlock stopped his ministrations. "Promise me, John." He growled.

"I promise." John gasped as Sherlock buried his face in his hair.

Feeling his wolf half start to take over, Sherlock was desperate to hear John's entire consent. "A full sentence, John. Fuck, I need a full sentence."

Hearing Sherlock swear caused what little blood was left in John's brain immediately vacate the premises for a more southern location. He twisted in Sherlock's arms and grabbed the taller man's face with his hands. "I promise that I will let you know if I feel uncertain, even a little bit."

"John, please listen to me." Sherlock's voice wavered as he struggled to maintain control. "I'm not going to be very rational soon. I'm sure you've never seen anything like what you are about to. When I scent, I will be entirely fixated on the sensation. If I speak, it won't have any logic behind it. This is the beginning steps to claiming you so my behavior will border on obsessive. Remember, you have a choice in this and you need to tell me in no uncertain terms if you change your mind."

_Please don't change your mind. Don't ever leave me._

Instead of responding, John grasped the bottom of his jumper and pulled it off. With slightly shaking hands, he unbuttoned this shirt and quickly threw it aside. Still maintaining eye contact, John slowly backed up until he felt the bed against the back of his knees. Sherlock looked positively predatory. His shoulders and chest were heaving while his hands were curling and uncurling as if Sherlock was fighting the urge to either grab John or change into wolf form. Maybe both. It was dark in the room, but John could just imagine that Sherlock's eyes were dark and capturing his every movement. The moment John settled on the mattress, Sherlock pounced.

Sherlock claimed John's mouth as his hands explored every inch of the newly exposed skin. It had taken all of his strength to wait until John was seated before acting. The second John had taken off his shirt, Sherlock's nose was filled with John's scent. It was a darker smell, though not musky, like tea, gunpowder, and  _something_. He was practically salivating. But it had been worth watching John slowly move, half-naked, towards his bed.  _His bed._ Sherlock had deduced John, searching for any hesitation and found none. He plundered his tongue back in John's mouth for a moment before turning his attentions to the rest of his face. Stripping out of his jacket and shirt, Sherlock kissed and nipped along John's jawline licking the same spots. As he worked down John's neck, he slid off his trousers. All Sherlock kept thinking was  _mine, mine, mine._

John started panting as Sherlock made his way down his body. The heat from their bare chests With every nip and lick, John relaxed into his arms. Sherlock reached one of John's nipples and lightly grazed his teeth over the nub. John's back arched as the oxygen in the room diminished. "Sherlock, my god!"

Through a haze of lust, John could hear Sherlock's delighted moan. "My mate is so sensitive." He breathed out as he lavished more attention to John's chest.

John could barely contain himself. His heart was probably going a million beats per minute, matching the pulses in his cock. "Fuck, Sherlock, yes please."

Sherlock responded by pushing John onto his stomach and continuing his path down John's back. John seized the opportunity and slowly began rutting against the sheet to help alleviate the pressure of his throbbing member. He almost froze as he felt Sherlock's hands at his hips. The fingers did not linger, however. Instead they made their way to John's zipper. Once Sherlock reached the small of John's back, he slowly worked off his jeans. John flipped onto his back and pulled Sherlock up with him. "Please be done. I need it to be over. I want you. I  _fucking_  want you so bad."

"Can't claim you yet. You're not ready."

John nearly sobbed with frustration at Sherlock's words. He never wanted anyone nearly as badly as he needed Sherlock at that moment. Sherlock bent his head towards John's ear. "I still want you to feel good, John. Let me help you."

Mashing his lips to Sherlock's, John ground up against his hips, their erections rubbing against each other's. Sherlock pushed down the instinct to rip John's pants off and pushing his cock deep inside his mate by clamping his teeth down onto John's shoulder. Instead, he lowered himself to John's crotch. To his delight, John's scent was stronger there. Nuzzling his cheek against the rock hard prick, Sherlock let out a contented sigh. "Mate smells good."

Before John could protest, Sherlock fished into the red pants and wrapped his long fingers around John's cock. John's head fell back against the sheets, moaning, as Sherlock stroked the thick shaft and rubbed his thumb over the red, leaking head. With a hunger rarely witnessed, Sherlock took John's cock in his mouth. His nose practically buried in John's blonde pubic hair while Sherlock started swallowing. If John's scent spoke to Sherlock, then his taste practically knocked him unconscious and tied him up in a warehouse. Sherlock's moans added to John's as Sherlock eagerly started to bob his head and wrapped his tongue around the shaft. Without thinking, Sherlock drifted his hand towards his own crotch and began to roughly stroke himself to the same pattern as he sucked John off.

The sensation of Sherlock's hot and wet mouth engulfing his hard-on was too much for John. "Sherlock, my god!"

Sherlock, too engrossed with John's dick to stop, made some muffled sounds instead. It either sounded like "I know, John,  _I know."_ or "Not God, John, your god."

The added vibrations of Sherlock's words send John over the edge. "I'm going to, ngh, Sherl, too close, uh!"

As an earth-shattering orgasm ripped through John, he tried to push Sherlock's head off his exploding cock, but the stubborn detective slapped his hands away. Submitting instead, John let out a wordless cry. Sherlock swallowed John's entire load before he felt his climax shake from his legs and shoot into his shaft. A moan and a lip bite was the only evidence on Sherlock's face of the breathless ecstasy rushing through his thin body.

Reluctant to part with the new favorite part of John's body, Sherlock made his way to the top of the bed and flopped onto his back. "Better?"

John peeked over at Sherlock. His curly hair looked thoroughly debauched and lay in clumps against his sweaty brow. A light pink color tinted his normally pale skin. John felt at ease in Sherlock's bed, lying side by side and sharing a pillow. He could not hide the grin that was sneaking onto his face. "Yeah. One small question, though."

Sherlock stared into John's eyes. He thought he could get lost in the warmth of his gaze. "Anything."

"If you were so insistent that you lost all sense of logic when you were scenting me, how were you able to talk me out of having sex?" John's warm eyes suddenly turned inquisitive.

"Um, I might have exaggerated that bit a little." Sherlock's face was the epitome of sheepishness.

"Did you think I wouldn't have told you to stop otherwise?" John's tone held no judgment, only curiosity.

Still, Sherlock felt fidgety under the question. "I just did not know what to expect, so I went with the worst case scenario."

"What do you mean, you didn't know what to expect? Does your reaction change from person to person?"

"I don't know." Sherlock nervously ran a hand through his hair. "I've never scented another before."

That got John's attention. "Why not?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Now it was Sherlock's turn to be curious. "No one else held my attention like you have."

"Well color me flattered." John purred as he rose to straddle Sherlock. "Now, I think it's time to stop talking."

"You, my dear Watson, are nothing but full of surprises." Sherlock smirked as John's lips covered his own.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thought I would let you all know that you are wonderful. 
> 
> And you look quite fabulous today.

John woke as the sunlight streamed through the window. Not wanting to disrupt Sherlock and lose the pleasant warmth across his back, he slowly turned his head to face the detective.

Only to find himself face to face with a wolf snout. Which had terrible morning breath.

Losing all sense of romance, John twisted back around. "Dear Lord, Sherlock, when was the last time you brushed your teeth?"

Naturally, he didn't expect an answer. Instead, Sherlock lazily opened an eye to study the half-naked doctor. He apparently approved as Sherlock then nosed into John's side, encouraging him to roll over. Though tempted, John resisted and sat up. Unamused, Sherlock stretched across John's lap. "Now that's enough of that." John griped. "You might be content with lying around all morning, but I'm not."

Sherlock allowed John to stand, but cocked his head to one side. John shrugged. "I know I don't have to work today."

Instantly, Sherlock's brow furrowed and he began to study the sheets, avoiding further eye contact. John stepped back to the bed. "It isn't you, Sherlock. If I lie around too much and don't stretch out my shoulder, it starts to ache and have shooting pains."

John really wasn't sure why he had never divulged that information to his flatmate before but he would rather face a moment of embarrassment about his old injury than have Sherlock think that John found their….whatever they are going to call  _this…_ mortifying. He then felt a slightly cold wet sensation on his scar. John smiled and ran his hand through Sherlock's fur. "It's alright, really. 'Sides, I'm starving anyway."

Sherlock contently followed John into the kitchen as he prepped the kettle for his morning tea. John found he didn't mind his furry companion. However, he drew the line when Sherlock tried to follow him into the bathroom. "Uh-uh. Not a chance. There are only so many concessions I am willing to make."

He shut the door, effectively cutting off Sherlock's whining. John quickly used the bathroom and was out within a couple of minutes. He even made it out before the kettle started boiling.

But he still managed to lag behind Mycroft, who was seated comfortably on John's chair. Sherlock was perched on his own, trying his hardest to look like a human. John was baffled as to why Sherlock was attempting human behavior yet refusing to merely turn back into his man-form. Mycroft seemed to understand his younger brother better, as demonstrated by the smirk of amusement on his normally blank face.

John decided to join the awkward party of two and slowly folded himself onto the couch. "Why is it." He began. "That whenever Sherlock and I have an enjoyable beginning to our day, you manage to arrive and ruin it?"

"Spare me the details, Doctor Watson." Mycroft drawled. "I can surmise what kind of morning you two have had just by the smell. It's bleeding out into the stairwell, by the way."

Mycroft's words managed to set Sherlock off. He dropped to the floor and hunched his shoulders forward, growling. Mycroft never lost his smirk. "Now now, brother mine, if I felt that way about your funny war doctor, I would have done something about it. Few have been able to resist."

John began to shrink away at what appeared to be the beginnings of the Third World War as Sherlock dropped his head down, eyes intent on the seemingly relaxed elder Holmes. Mycroft sighed. "Fine, if you insist doing it your way."

Within seconds, the body of Mycroft Holmes, the embodiment of the British Government, disappeared. In his place stood another wolf, slightly broader than Sherlock, with dark red fur. Wolf Mycroft gave Wolf Sherlock a look that might have read "Yes, you are the Alpha in this flat. I should not have made an advance toward your almost mate. This is getting quite tedious, can we be finished?"

But John caught none of that. Instead, he was fixated on one point. One visual that he would never get out of his mind. If he was faced with the worst day ever: the loss of a job, his home, and his mind, he would be relatively fine because of this one visual.

Mycroft never took off his jacket, shirt, and tie when he changed.

Wolf Mycroft was still entirely dressed from the "waist" up.

John bit his lip as a hysterical laugh threatened to spill out. "Um, Mycroft? I believe you may have missed some clothes."

Sherlock looked at John before returning his gaze to Mycroft, as if he hadn't noticed half of a suit on the werewolf. His eyes bulged as his tail began to wag merrily.

Mycroft shook his head and delicately picked up his trousers with his mouth. He managed to walk into Sherlock's room with his head held high. If he had been walking on two legs instead of four, his back would have been ramrod straight. Mycroft glanced at the boiling kettle and shot John a look. Once John lost sight of Mycroft, he held his favorite Union Jack pillow to his face and let out a deep belly laugh. After finally pulling the pillow from his face, John walked briskly to the stove and poured the water into a mug. Upon returning to the sitting room, he noticed Sherlock had finally shifted back to his human self. "Good to see you back to your normal self." He remarked.

Sherlock, entirely nude, waved his hand with disinterest. "Honestly John, both forms are considered my normal self. I am quite literally two very different halves to a whole."

"Ya, good to know. Think you might put on some clothes?"  _Do not look at his crotch. Do not let him know what you are thinking._

Sherlock leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Does my body distract you, John?" He smiled as his voice deepened, probably intentionally. "I really wish you wouldn't hide how you feel about me. It is most intriguing."

John grinned back and let his eyes travel from Sherlock's eyes, down his throat, and when he had reached his chest, replied. "I didn't think you wanted your brother to know that much about us. But if you insist…"

As a look of sheer disgust passed over Sherlock's face, the two men could hear Mycroft returning from the bedroom. John threw the pillow over to Sherlock, who caught it and dropped it, Union Jack flag side up, directly onto his crotch. Mycroft re-entered the room, looking as if he hadn't changed into a gigantic ginger wolf. "Ah, now that you have decided to act like a human." He dropped a large file onto John's chair. "An old friend needs help. Surely you can handle this one. But, please, put on some clothing. I don't want another Buckingham incident."

He turned to walk out of the flat, knowing that even though Sherlock was human, he would still be impossible to converse with. From the stairwell he called out. "And don't forget to call Mummy!"

John and Sherlock listened as Mycroft breezed out the front door. "Does he always do that?" John asked.

"Do what?"

"That. Come in, piss you off, give out information, and walk out."

"Oh, that. You'd be amazed."

"So."

"So?" Sherlock gave John an odd look.

"The old friend?"

Sherlock stood to snatch the file while John tried not to stare at the lean muscles in his legs. "I know you like looking, so stop pretending that you don't. Ah, yes, this friend." Sherlock swung around. "So how much of my world are you willing to see?"

"All of it. But I have one condition."

Taking a moment to consider, Sherlock relented. "Fine. What."

John sauntered over to the counter and picked up his tea. He could practically feel Sherlock rolling his eyes. Instead of responding, John threw a couple slices of bread into the toaster and when he turned back around, he found a neat stack of clean clothes. His clothing. Sherlock, back in canine form, was sprawled on the couch. "How did you, actually, know what? I don't want to know how you managed that."

The toaster popped out the newly heated bread. John threw it on a plate and reached over to grab some jam. "Did you want something to eat? Technically, you aren't on a case yet."

Facing his breakfast, John muttered out a curse. Catching the (literal) tail end of Sherlock's retreating form, he shouted after him. "I meant that I would have made you something!"

Fortunately for John, his eyes had always been larger than his stomach. He was sure he would still be satisfied with his toast, even if it was minus one slice.

John peered out from the window of the cab. "What kind of friend was this? You never admit to having friends."

Sherlock didn't bother to look up from his mobile. "An old one. You two have met, John."

The cabbie pulled in front of a rather impressive building. Sherlock and John exited the car, standing for a moment. "I really don't think I've met someone who could afford digs like this."

"Digs, John?"

"Not important."

"Well, then we shouldn't hesitate much longer. We're expected." Sherlock strode towards the door. "Come along, John."

John followed. Not because Sherlock instructed him to, naturally, but John was wondering why Sherlock's mood had changed so quickly. They couldn't even leave the flat without a thorough snog and until the cab was nearly to the destination, Sherlock had his hand firmly on John's knee and his nose practically bumping against John's neck. "You smell so much better." He had declared. "You smell like us."

And within a minute, he had gone back to the distant and impatient detective. Which begged the question: what the hell happened? Sherlock pressed the buzzer and stepped back. When John managed to catch his eye, Sherlock offered a small wink. Slightly mollified, John returned his attention to the door. He could see a blurry outline through the frosted glass coming to answer the door. He wracked his brain trying to think of who this mysterious friend is. As the door swung open, John instantly recognized the person on the other side.

It still did not stop the gasp of surprise. "You." Was all he managed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh duh duh! Who do you think it is?
> 
> One thing is for sure, they will be a supernatural creature. Anyone want to take a guess at which one?
> 
> Send me some love. Some summertime love, which is the hottest of them all ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Molly Hooper gazed back at John impassively as she leaned against the doorframe. "Close your mouth, John, it's not a very becoming look for you."

John immediately listened but that didn't stop him from gaping at who he always assumed was a quiet, mild-mannered pathologist. The Molly that stood in front of him was a whole different being. Clad in a short red dress and with her hair loose, Molly could have given Irene Adler a run for her money. She also stood differently, with more confidence and pride, than how she typically did at St. Barts.

Molly appeared amused at John's reaction and gave him the extra time to process all the changes. Sherlock, however, was not nearly as understanding. "Come on, John, it's just Molly."

With a slight jump, John refocused at the task at hand. They were on a case, not a social visit. "Right, sorry."

Molly smiled. "I get that reaction a lot. Follow me, we'll have tea."

And so they did. Sherlock kept up with Molly's brisk pace while John was distracted by all the art in the house. Surely a pathologist didn't make  _that much_.  _I wonder if she came from wealth._ John thought as he quickly surveyed the marble statues of birds on either side of the entry into Molly's parlor. As Molly made herself comfortable on her chaise, John and Sherlock sat on the chairs opposite. John was in the middle of determining if the furniture was an original piece or just a reproduction when, "Wait, why did you call Molly an old friend?"

Sherlock and Molly exchanged such a look that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous. "You should probably be aware, John, that when I say 'old' friend I actually mean age-wise."

John thought for a moment. "And when you say age-wise, you mean…"

Molly cut in. "Older than you think. I'm a siren, John, one of the original handmaidens for Persephone before Hades got his greedy hands on her."

Though unable to form coherent words, John's mind was going a mile a minute.  _Did she say Siren? An actual Siren? Like, luring sailors to their deaths, Siren? Oh shit, Molly could probably kill me with little more than a blink of an eye. Choose your words carefully, Watson._  "Um, you've aged really well."

Molly threw her head back and laughed. "Thank you, John. I'm actually glad that you have been taking the news this well. Poor Lestrade fainted. But enough small talk, I do have a concern."

"Anything." Sherlock sat back in his chair and assumed his typical thinking pose. "What makes you think someone is after you?"

"It's not just anyone. The Golem. I've been seeing him sneak around." Molly toyed with her necklace worriedly.

Sherlock appeared mildly surprised. "And you can't defend yourself?"

"That's the problem. The Golem is unaffected by my singing. Last night, I spent at least an hour trying to get him to jump off the bridge that is about a mile away. However, at his most convinced, he just looked like he was enjoying the music." Molly curled the chain in her fist. "Can you imagine how frustrating that is?"

"I believe we can take care of the assassin. But what of the person who hired him? Certainly you would want them to be uncovered." Sherlock's voice was quiet, but determined, as if he was already planning his attack.

Molly grinned. "I already know who it is. And trust me, I have plans for him."

For a moment, Sherlock and Molly just smiled at each other. John could instantly tell that the two had been friends for years, possibly decades or centuries. Sherlock never was forthcoming with how long he had been around. Looking closer, John could see flashes of Sherlock's yellow wolf eyes in the depths of blue.

The visit did not last much longer and soon enough, Molly walked the two back towards the front door. She wrapped John in a hug before he had a chance to leave. "Thank you." She whispered. "It's so hard for humans to understand who I am and still look me in the eye. You're a good man, John Watson. Sherlock is lucky to have you."

John gave her an extra squeeze. "Nothing short of mass murdering small children would frighten me out of our friendship."

Molly pulled back and pushed a lock of hair off of John's forehead. "And what I said about Sherlock?"

Reading between the lines, John replied. "He doesn't have me yet. I just have this feeling that once we're"

"Mated."

John swallowed hard. "Right, mated. I feel like there's no turning back on it."

Molly nodded. "You're right about that. Wolves mate for life, Sherlock is no exception. He was probably pickier than other werewolves I know, they at least sniffed around. But Sherlock wanted nothing to do with that until you came around. Funny how life works out."

"Yeah, just one question, though."

Flicking her eyes to Sherlock, who was waiting impatiently at the street, Molly waved a hand at him. "Of course." She said to John.

"How are you feeling about Sherlock and me? I mean, you fancied him, didn't you?"

Molly's hearty laugh rang out. "Oh, that? That's nothing but a little act I put on. How else could I explain why I let Sherlock run amok in the labs? It's not like I can say 'Sorry, boss, but I've known him for the better part of a century!' Could you imagine?"

* * *

 

About an hour after they left Molly's, Sherlock and John found the Golem lurking around the back of a cinema, much to the surprise to them both. "What the hell is he doing here?" John wondered aloud.

"Molly's lucky enough to find a doppelganger who doesn't mind the occasional diversion job." Sherlock explained. "She simply called her and this is where they decided to lure him. Apparently, there is an awful film still playing. She'll meet us in that particular spot and we'll ambush him, well, I will ambush him and you cover me."

Instantly suspicious, John eyed Sherlock. "What are you planning?"

Sherlock merely turned, showing John his glowing yellow eyes. "I'm putting a permanent end to the Golem, obviously."

Rotating back, Sherlock stalked through the side door, which just so happened to be unlocked. John was left behind, muttering to himself. "Obviously. And of course the damn door is open. How does he manage this?"

John caught up to the impossible detective. Sherlock was currently standing one of the doors, gesturing quietly. "I'm going to sneak to the front. You stay in the back and make sure he doesn't escape."

Sherlock waited for a nod from John. He stepped to the older doctor, cupped his hand at the back of John's head, and kissed him deeply. Sherlock really couldn't get enough of John's mouth; it was warm and quite reactive. Once he had claimed his fill, Sherlock stepped back. "I didn't want to be distracted from the task at hand." He said simply.

And off he went into the darkened room. John was immediately behind him, grabbing the discarded clothing and putting them in a pile that would be within reach. Sure enough, the Golem was silently searching for the Molly lookalike in the aisles. Sherlock shifted into his wolf form and circled around to the front. John reached for his gun and hid in the shadows, ready to stop the Golem if he tried to leave. The attack happened so quickly, John couldn't be sure if he actually witnessed it. He could see Molly's unbiological twin duck down and skirt up to where Sherlock was waiting. She had deliberately allowed herself to be found by the mute assassin. The Golem rapidly closed the gap and when he was within arm's reach, Sherlock leapt up and managed to wrap his powerful jaw around the Golem's neck. Assisting in the attack, the woman tackled the large man at the knees. Once the Golem collapsed, Sherlock dragged him into a dark alcove; non-Molly was following closely after them.

Fortunately, the sounds of the movie playing covered whatever was occurring in the dark. Within minutes, Sherlock emerged without a drop of blood on him. He reached for his clothing. "Thank you. We need to stay here for a while. Stella needs to dispose of the body but we cannot allow anyone near that alcove."

John gestured to the screen. "It looks like we're still at the beginning of the film, care to watch it?"

Even the dark couldn't hide Sherlock's pleased smile. They settled in and focused their attention to the movie, for about 5 minutes.

"I can't believe this piece of shit is being passed as a film." John groaned.

Sherlock was literally hiding his face with his hands. "Please let it end. Even Anderson would think it was stupid."  _This is definitely not a date. Don't even ask, Sherlock. There's no way John would think this was….what's the word he's always using? Romantic._

John faced Sherlock with an impish smile. "I can think of something that may help pass the time."

He leaned over and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. Sherlock sighed and relaxed into John's arms. Snogging John was one of his favorite pastimes, even bypassing his occasional wolf runs in the country. Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock spotted Stella creeping past, giving the all-clear. Finally, they can leave the cinema and as far away from the terrible film as possible. But then John let out a quiet moan and ran his hand up Sherlock's thigh.

Sherlock's eyes rolled back as he tightened his hold on John. Surely, they could last another 5 minutes.

The movie wasn't  _that_  idiotic.

 

An hour later, the ringing of Sherlock's mobile forced him to come back up for air. "Answer it." John murmured, his voice low.

Sherlock shook his head and dipped back down to John's lips. "No. It's nothing important."

Soon, his phone went silent. However, within seconds, John's mobile started going off. This time, John's voice found more resolve. "That has to be Lestrade. He's the only one who calls me immediately when you don't pick up."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock plucked the annoying piece of technology out of John's pocket. "What is it?" He asked gruffly. "Fine, fine, we're close so we'll meet you there."

Hanging up, Sherlock nuzzled into John's neck. "Stella left the remains of the Golem about two blocks away. We should settle on a story for me to deduce for I don't believe Lestrade would be pleased if he found out about my part in it."

* * *

 

"How did Lestrade even believe the dog attack story? How?!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Because there was dog hair everywhere and the body was covered with canine bites. Also, the general population doesn't believe supernatural beings walk the planet." John and Sherlock were making their way back to Baker Street when they passed a Chinese restaurant. The smells were so enticing, John's stomach growled with hopefulness. Sherlock stopped, grabbed John's hand, and led him into the restaurant. "It's fine, Sherlock, I can eat when we get back." John weakly protested.

"Nonsense, we're here now and I'm hungry too." Sherlock gave the staff a brief smile before studying the menu with the same intensity as his experiments.

After they ordered, Sherlock led John to a nearby park. They sat on a bench and picked their food with chopsticks. "So." John began. "How old are you, exactly?"

Sherlock looked at John with a peculiar expression. "I'm 34, John, you know this."

John was confused. "So you aren't immortal?"

"Immortal? Absolutely not, I age the same as you do."

"But Molly said she's known you for nearly a century."

"Oh that." Sherlock let out an amused chuckle. "It makes sense if you truly think about how long Molly has been alive. To her, a century is a blink of an eye. Also, Molly tends to exaggerate how long she's acquainted with another the more fondly she feels towards them."

John let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. "So you'll age like me."

"Yes, John. I will grow old with you. We will become those ancient curmudgeonly coots that parents warn their children away from. You'll tinker around the house and I will take up beekeeping." Sherlock couldn't help but wistfully plot out their future.

"Sounds like the ideal retirement." John and Sherlock locked eyes. "We should go home."

They slowly cleaned up their impromptu picnic and made their way to 221B. John paused at the landing to the flat and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. "I had fun tonight." He started up the stairs to his bedroom, stopping halfway. "By the way, this was a date."

With those parting words, he hurried up the last few steps. Sherlock stood frozen at the landing. "But I wasn't even trying!" He called up to the closed door.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I warn you folks about potential smut? Well, here's your warning....some sexy times!

John thought with such an eventful day, he would fall instantly asleep. However, three hours after he left Sherlock shell-shocked on the stairs, he was still wide awake. Staring at the ceiling, John willed fatigue to settle in. His former therapist once suggested that when he was unable to sleep, it might have been because something was weighing on his mind that John was deliberately ignoring. At first, he brushed off her observation as nonsense. But as the minutes passed, John begrudgingly admitted that she might have been onto something. He took a deep breath and tried to remember the mental exercise she described in the event of insomnia.

_Christ, what did she say again? I really need to start listening better. Maybe if I had, I wouldn't be in this mess._

_Wait, why did I refer to my situation with Sherlock a mess?_

_Am I still uncomfortable with the idea of Sherlock and me together?_

_If I had been on a date with anyone else, I would have tried more than just a kiss on the cheek. Especially if I really fancied them._

_Ok, I just thought about a general date without automatically thinking about another woman. I guess that means that I'm not bothered with Sherlock being a bloke._

_What about the physical stuff? Last night was incredible. Do I mean incredible? It seems like a huge concept. Hm. Yeah, I did, there's no other word to describe it._

John thought back to the sensation of Sherlock mapping out every inch of his body. With his previous lovers, they hadn't taken time to truly explore him. It was usually John the one who caressed, licked, and nibbled. He loved breaking down his partner, inch by inch, until they were a quivering mess.  _Is that my problem?_ He thought.  _I wasn't in control._

Granted, John hadn't been doing his research on relationships with werewolves (how on earth do you pop that into a search engine?) but not knowing was really the problem. John couldn't help but think that if he were to be mated to Sherlock, he would be considered the lesser in the relationship.  _Why don't you call it for what it is? You'll be Sherlock's bitch._

A stone of worry settled in John's stomach.  _So that's what it is. I don't want to be his inferior._ John rolled over and stared at the floor, where he was certain Sherlock's bed lie.  _There's really only one way to clear this up._

* * *

Sherlock felt his eyebrow quirk up when he heard footsteps in John's room. He had just been pondering if it was an appropriate time to take out his violin. Typically, Sherlock waited until he was sure John had entered deep sleep before he played after midnight.  _Something is bothering him. He appeared content when we got back to the flat, why is he worried now?_ As the footsteps progressed down the stairs, Sherlock's mind began to reel.

_John doesn't sleep when he is ignoring his problems. He never ignores problems that he is comfortable with confronting. Therefore, John realized there was a problem after he went upstairs. What could he have been thinking about? He's been with me since last night. Oh. His footsteps are slowing down as he is getting closer to my door. I'm the problem. John must have realized that he unknowingly ran away from me before either of us had a chance to become more physically engaged. He's nervous because he's figured out why he did that._

A tentative knock roused Sherlock out of his thoughts. With a heavy heart, he opened the door to John, whom he was certain would try to talk both of them out of a relationship.  _But I want him._ Sherlock thought miserably. Studying the man, Sherlock noted the fatigued but determined eyes and direct eye contact. John's face, once tight with concern, relaxed once Sherlock was within view. Sherlock rested his head against the door, never losing eye contact. "You have questions."

"Yes."

"That's why you ran upstairs instead of staying with me."

"I didn't know it at the time."

"But that's why you couldn't sleep."

John sighed. "Can we talk?"

Instead of answering, Sherlock opened the door the rest of the way. John saw it as an invitation to decide where they would be discussing such matters. If he chose the kitchen, Sherlock would automatically know why John was feeling uncomfortable. If he chose Sherlock's room and the conversation became tense, the presence of Sherlock's bed and the memories of last night would just make things worse. On the other hand, if John was satisfied with Sherlock's answers, they would not have to go far if things became heated.

John stepped into Sherlock's room and hoped deeply that the conversation ended well. He tried to appear nonchalant as he sat back on Sherlock's bed, back against the headboard. Clearly it didn't work, as Sherlock's mouth quirked up before assuming a blank and, what he hoped was, an open expression. He perched on the edge of the mattress and waited for John to speak first. John licked his lips and tried to ask, in a gentle way, exactly how the dynamics of their relationship would advance while the both of them are willing to proceed.

"Am I your bitch?"

John almost died of embarrassment. Sherlock looked surprised and then contemplative.  _Oh bollocks, he's taking it seriously._  John wanted to dive into the comforter and hide until the nightmare was over. As if he read John's mind, Sherlock shifted so that he was sitting next to John, effectively pinning the comforter down. "John." Sherlock started and John instantly wondered if he could survive a dive out of the window. "Considering you are a male human and a 'bitch' typically refers to a female canine or a slang word towards women who tend to be more opinionated, I can honestly say that you are not a bitch. Are you mine? That is definitely an idea in which I am open to discussing with you. However, I would prefer that I am as much yours are you are mine."

"It's just that." John paused. "I've heard that male wolves look for a submissive mate."

"Lie." Sherlock snorted derisively.

"Is it?" John felt like a weight had been lifted as Sherlock nodded. "So what would it be like?"

"However we want it." Sherlock spoke slowly as if John were below intelligence. "There's no law governing our relationship, John. The only other courtship process that we have yet to face is when we mate."

"And that is…"

"Penetrative intercourse with me topping. After that, we can switch off if you prefer." Sherlock's direct answer helped alleviate the rest of the stress John had been ignoring.

"What about children?" John wondered aloud. "Don't you have, I don't know, a biological urge to procreate?"

Sherlock squinted at John. "Do you? That specific urge, I believe, transcends species and gender. Since neither of us have the proper body organs to carry a fetus to full-term, we would have to obtain children via adoption or surrogacy."

"Oh." John sat for a moment. "I'm grasping for straws now, aren't I?"

Sensing that John's apprehensions had been dissolved, Sherlock draped his arm over John's shoulders and buried his nose in the blonde hair. "I don't mind." Sherlock's tone was hopeful. "It means that you are curious about this and if you are curious, it means that you are still viewing this as somewhat desirable."

John turned his head and captured Sherlock's mouth with his own. "Somewhat desirable?" John echoed. "I think I need to show you just how desirable I find you."

Sherlock almost whimpered at how forcefully John thrust his tongue into his mouth.  _Need._ Sherlock thought.  _That is what this all is._ He needed John to take control, needed to feel how much John wanted him. Sherlock had to be certain that his relationship was not entirely one-sided. John needed to be the one calling the shots as well. He needed to know that his identity would not simply fade away around the gravitational pull that was Sherlock. Sherlock merely held on and let John take whatever he wanted.

John, upon feeling Sherlock relinquish control, was desperate for the detective's skin on his own. He wanted Sherlock to feel every bit as frantic as John felt last night. "Fuck, Sherlock." John moaned. "How can you not know how much I crave you? You're like a fucking addiction."

He rolled Sherlock onto his back and laid on top of him, John's hands traveling from Sherlock's shoulders to his hips. Sherlock's hands were clutching John's arse. "Prove it." Sherlock hissed as he thrust his hips up to meet John's. "Show me how much you want this."

All coherent thoughts flew out of John's mind as he felt Sherlock's erection rub against his own. His hands flew to Sherlock's shirt and almost ripped the cloth off. With a delighted sigh, John felt Sherlock's hands at the elastic band of his bottoms and pulling them down. John mirrored Sherlock's actions and scooted down his body, licking and biting as he went. Sherlock must have been a glutton for pain because his moans increased the harder John bit down. Before John could reach Sherlock's prick, though he was pulled back up as Sherlock crushed his lips to John's.

Not content with just kissing, John lined his erection against Sherlock's and wrapped his hand around them. Using the combined precum as lubricant, John slid his hand up and down. Sherlock decided it wasn't enough and rocked his hips against the motion of John's hand. "John." He moaned.

John looked at Sherlock. Though his head was tilted back, John could see his mouth was opened into an "O" shape with cherry red hips. A faint blush was settled over his face and his eyes were wide open yet blind with sheer arousal. "Fuck, you're beautiful." John whispered as he used his free hand to move Sherlock's head down.

"Please John, oh my god, I need more." Sherlock pleaded as he tried to increase the amount of friction on his cock.

Smiling, John leaned down to Sherlock's ear. "You like it hard?" He purred.

"Yes." Sherlock was amazed he could even enunciate.

"You're getting off on this? Me taking you instead of you always being the one in control?" John loved feeling how Sherlock whimpered and squirmed in his arms. "And you clearly love it when I talk dirty."

"Yes! John. Fu-I lo-I need all, all of this." Sherlock's hands were gripped so tightly onto John's hips, both were certain of the bruises that would follow and neither cared.

John finally took pity on Sherlock and his own orgasm, growing stronger with each stroke of his hand. Gripping tighter, John ground his hips faster against Sherlock's. The added force had an instantaneous result. Sherlock's back bowed up at an impossible angle as he cried out, coming over John's hand and both of their stomachs. John was soon to follow, moaning into Sherlock's neck as he came just as hard.

Sherlock blindly felt around his floor before lifting a flannel up and quietly cleaning the two men off. John tried to roll back onto the mattress, but Sherlock grabbed him by the arms and rolled him back, growling. John let out a surprised laugh. "Sorry." He said. "But you actually just growled at me."

"Oh piss off." Sherlock muttered. "Sometimes it comes out."

Feeling bad, John layered small kisses along Sherlock's jawline. "Don't. It's adorable."

"Spectacular, I'm adorable now. Why don't you just put a bow on me and enter me into the Westminster dog show."

"Mmm, good idea. I bet you'd even place in the competition." John grinned at the image of Sherlock being presented to a couple of posh judges.

Sherlock threw the flannel in the general direction of his dirty clothing pile. "If I placed, though, people would be clamoring to get me to mount their bitches instead of you."

John pulled a sheet up to cover them both and slid off to Sherlock's side. Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried to pull John back on top of him. "Oi." John protested, more out of fondness than irritation. "I'm just trying to get more comfortable. You do want me to sleep here tonight, don't you?"

Sherlock responded by rolling onto his side, pressing his back to John's front, and changing into wolf form as he went. By the time he had gotten properly laid out, Sherlock was already asleep.  _Of course he had to have the last word._  John thought as he wrapped his arms around the wolf. He buried his face into the fur and wondered how he got so comfortable with being in love with this weird, sexy, slightly manic, and impossible werewolf.

 


	9. Chapter 9

An insistent buzzing next to Sherlock's left ear finally woke the detective up. He slapped lazily at the table next to the bed until his hand located the source of his ire: his mobile. Squinting at the text, Sherlock groaned and poked John in the side with his free hand. "John." Sherlock frowned when the doctor just rolled further away and decided to poke even harder. "John, wake up. Molly will be here within the hour."

That got John's attention. He lifted his head from the pillow and studied Sherlock from beneath his severely mussed hair. "Is she still under attack?"

"Hard to say." Sherlock's mind was already fast at work narrowing down the possibilities. "I assume the person who set the Golem after her is still out of reach and needs our help to get her closer to him."

John sat up and rubbed his face in an effort to wake up. He peered over at Sherlock, who was still spread out on his back. Clearly, the man woke up infinitely more gracefully than he ever hoped to. "We just need to get this unknown person with a vendetta against Molly… _Molly_  close enough to her to, what exactly?"

Sherlock picked that very moment to become entranced with the muscles in John's lower back. Curling around the smaller man, Sherlock ran his fingers over the skin. "You should learn to accept that the Molly you know is not the Molly that exists." Though Sherlock was speaking seriously, he kept his tone light. "She has lived longer than you could possibly fathom and has killed others. Somehow, she managed to make an enemy. We all have been there. As for your question, we just need to get him close enough to Molly so her songs will take effect."

Sherlock ended his statement with a kiss to John's lower spine. John began to twist towards Sherlock, running his hand down the man's side. "I suppose that makes sense. But what if he is unaffected?"

"If he could not be hypnotized, he would have never sent the Golem after Molly." Something odd struck Sherlock and he sat up to study John further. "Why are you not bothered by knowing about Molly's history with murder?"

John shrugged. "How can I possibly judge her for her actions when I've done the same? I might not have lived as long as her, but I've taken lives in Afghanistan."

"But you were a doctor."

"Tell that to the ones trying to kill me." John gave Sherlock a crooked smile.

Sherlock rested his chin against John's shoulder. "You truly are unlike all of the other morons out there."

John buried his face into Sherlock's curls. "And you aren't nearly as insufferable as you claim to be." He slowly dipped his hand underneath the sheets. "How long did Molly say she would be?"

"I suppose between the lag time between when she send the text and when I received it coupled with how long we have spent talking, I suppose she will be another 45 minutes. But then again, Mrs. Hudson always likes to natter on about something or another when she arrives, so that gives us oomph!" Sherlock was cut off when John's hands quickly found his shoulders and pressed him into the mattress.

"Gives us plenty of time." John growled out as he effectively ended the conversation.

Sherlock dropped his head back to the pillow as he felt John's lips work down his stomach. "Very much unlike those idiots. Practically extraordina-Oh god, John!"

* * *

 

Exactly 57 minutes later, Molly knocked on Sherlock and John's door before she let herself in. John held up the kettle. "Fancy a cuppa?"

"Please." Molly smiled at John. "Would you mind if I took a moment before we delve into my little problem? I could use the distraction."

"Sure thing." John slid Molly a mug of tea and slapped down a plate in front of Sherlock. "Perhaps you could help me talk this git into eating something."

Sherlock sat in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "No."

"Sherlock, it's toast. Surely you can manage a few bites of that. We even have some jam if you would like." John held out two jars. "Marmite?"

"Jawn! You know I don't eat when I'm on a case!" Sherlock's lower lip looked precariously close to jutting out in a full-on pout.

"Technically," Molly piped up. "you aren't on a case yet. I've only said that I need help. Besides, you need extra calories whenever you change without the aid of the moon, you know this."

The look Sherlock gave Molly was one of utter betrayal. John barked out a laugh and set both jars in front of the petulant detective. "There, now you have no excuse."

Glaring at John, Sherlock bit into the toasted bread. "You aren't eating." He pointed out.

John stared back. "I already ate." Was his retort.

Sherlock suddenly became more interested in the crumb pattern assembling on his plate. Molly suppressed the urge to giggle at the obvious blush growing on Sherlock's ears. She was happy to see her dear friend finally content with a mate. Molly and John waited until Sherlock swallowed his last bite of bread, clapped his hands together, and peered back. "There, food has been consumed. So what are we up against?"

"Victor." Molly whispered.

"I knew it!" Sherlock shouted as he jumped up and started pacing. "That Djinn piece of shit can never learn to leave you alone. I should have killed him when I had the chance."

The Molly who John knew would have paled at the shout and stared at her hands. Siren Molly, on the other hand, drew up to her full height and shouted back. "What a great idea, Sherlock. Try to kill a being that can out you into an alternate reality with one mere touch! Why the hell didn't I think of that?! Out of the three of us, I'm the only one who can effectively end him. But sure, just go ahead and wind up six feet under, what a fucking genius!"

Fearing the worst as he watched Molly and Sherlock try to stare each other down, John cleared his throat. "Um, excuse me…"

"What!?" The Siren and the Werewolf shouted in unison.

"When you speak of a Djinn, are you talking about the-"

"The creature that is the real version of a genie? Yes. Only the wishes he'll grant you would be a death wish." Sherlock spat out. "They can make you hallucinate an entire new life so you aren't able to fight back as they kill you."

"And you think you can kill one?" John queried. "It sounds more logical that we would draw it closer to Molly, like you were suggesting earlier."

"Did you now?" Molly purred.

Sherlock paused. He knew he was stuck as he looked at the two slightly smug faces.

* * *

 

"You do realize that we are about to hunt down a Djinn named  _Victor_ in a giant forest in hopes to lure him in the direction he's been avoiding for nearly a fortnight?" John whispered as he and Sherlock made their way through the trees.

"When you say it with such a negative perspective, it sounds like we are headed to our doom. Try to keep a positive mindset, John." Sherlock muttered back with a frighteningly upbeat tone.

As John eyed the fallen trunk in front of him, he resisted the urge to throw a clot of mud at his flatmate's head. "Positive, yeah, okay. Let's see, we are about to vanquish just a small percentage of evil in the world, thus saving a damsel in distress. We're in a bloody fairy tale! Where's my horse!"

"I don't think you are taking this seriously anymore. Please go back to being negative and certain of our imminent demise." Sherlock gracefully leapt over the log as John glared and walked around it.

Molly's plan was very simple. Sherlock and John were to walk around the woods, trying to locate the Djinn, who would most likely hear them and run off. Molly had silently staked out a location close to a pond. Once Victor was within earshot, Molly would start her song and convince him to drown. Of course, the idea of being trapped by the Djinn had not appeared to be a logical outcome in Sherlock's mind.

The git.

Surprisingly, Mycroft offered assistance to John and Sherlock. Even more surprisingly, Sherlock accepted, sort of. Mycroft provided a car for John and Sherlock to drive out to the woods behind Molly's home, which was conveniently parked in case the trio required a quick escape. Knowing the creature would reside towards the back half of the forest greatly reduced the amount of land to be scoured, but there was still a fucking lot left in John's eyes. Both men dressed in dark trousers and shirts. Sherlock literally rolled his eyes when John suggested they cover their faces, as Sherlock's alabaster skin would certainly be spotted. "He needs to see us, John. If we're practically invisible, he'll instantly be on the defense."

Because  _that_  was perfectly logical.

Very little was said after clearing their first fallen tree. Sherlock and John crept around trees and peered into rock formations for any evidence of another being. After the fifth false lead, John was ready to admit the plan was fruitless until Sherlock's eyes widened. "Vatican Cameos." He mouthed. John froze and waited for Sherlock to direct the next move. The detective slowly stood up and casually sauntered over to John, who had been a mere two metres away. "He's following us. I wasn't sure before, but the second clearing with the crushed twigs had been his camp."

John tried to peer behind Sherlock, but only managed to turn his head slightly before having his body physically rotated. "Do. Not. Look." Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth. "He doesn't know that we know. Are you understanding this? We are at an advantage. He is too smug about being able to stalk us without our knowledge that he is losing sight of where his parameters are."

Breathing slowly to keep his pulse and blood pressure down, John pointed south and played along. "Obviously, this area is a bust. We haven't tried over here yet."

Sherlock's lip twitched upwards momentarily. He admired how unflappable the former soldier continued to be. They worked their way south, pausing to inspect random pilings and possible footsteps. Neither tried to look in the direction they assumed Victor had been following aside from the cursory scans. Had they avoided looking in that area altogether, the creature would have known immediately that he had been made.

A new scent permeated the air. Sherlock's nose twitched as it tried to identify whether the smell was friend or foe. After a mere moment, Sherlock determined it was Molly. She must have covered her natural scent to throw Victor off, which made sense considering their history together. He calculated another dozen yards until they were within Molly's range, which posed a whole new set of problems. Molly's Siren call was not discriminatory. If John and Sherlock were within range, they would also be placed under her spell. Sherlock turned towards John, prepared to give him further instructions.

However, the words died in his throat once he saw a pale hand snaking out from the darkness, aiming right at the back of John's neck.  _Fucking Victor got ahead of us._ Sherlock stopped thinking, stopped analyzing, stopped  _breathing_  and merely reacted. He reached out and grabbed hold of the bottom of John's coat, wrenching the smaller man towards him and away from the threat. As soon as John was far enough away, Sherlock ripped off his Belstaff, scarf, and jacket. He changed instantly and snarled at the shadow.

John watched as the large wolf paced in a half circle around where the hand quickly retracted. He stopped to sniff the air before launching himself behind John.  _How can that thing move so quickly without a sound?_ John did not have time to ponder his own question as Sherlock jerked his canine head towards him. Extracting the firearm he was hiding, John aimed in the direction Sherlock snapped his jaws at. After a quick calculation, John figured Molly's position was due east. He adjusted his aim to the west, hoping to drive the Djinn towards their goal.

Sherlock covered John as he shot, accounting for the Southern region and worked his way west as John aimed further east. They both walked forward, keeping with the heavy artillery and only pausing for John to quickly reload. With his heightened hearing, Sherlock could just detect the Djinn scampering in the right direction. Just a bit further and Molly's song will have taken over. Suddenly, John's body tightened as he lowered the firearm. _No._ Sherlock thought as he recognized the slow yet steady gait.  _John can hear Molly._  He shot forward and clenched John's right ankle with his teeth. Carefully, as to not break the bone, Sherlock dragged John back until he could feel the muscles relax. Once he heard John's muttered cursing, he finally let go and turned back into his human shape.

Once John realized what could have happened, he began to tremble. He had been so caught up in driving the Djinn to Molly, he had forgotten his own position. Though he wanted to bury his head in his hands, John had to know one thing. "Did he make it into range?"

Sherlock's attention was on the clearing just a few metres ahead. Though the moonlight was weak, he could see a dark figure emerge. John gasped as he saw what the Djinn truly looked like . Tall and well-muscled, the Victor's skin practically glowed where there were no dark markings. John had not recognized any of the designs and could not be sure if they were tattoos, scars, or something else. Then, as if he was fighting against the force of Molly's call, the Djinn turned towards Sherlock and John. He regarded them for a moment before turning back and submitting to the spell.

John and Sherlock stared after the enchanted figure as he slowly made his way out of the clearing. "Which way is she leading him?" John asked. "It doesn't look like they are going to the pond."

Sherlock did not take his eyes off of the retreating form. "Not sure."

He had not bothered to think about where the creature was going. Sherlock kept seeing his hand slowly reach for John. Just one touch and he would have lost his blogger. Shivering, Sherlock rubbed his arms and turned back to John. "We've done all we can. Molly can take care of the rest." He stretched out his hand. "Let's go home."

John reluctantly took the proffered hand, though he never moved his gaze from the tree line. "That look on his face." He muttered.

"Don't worry yourself about that, John."

"But he looked so…"

"It's time to go home, John."

"…resigned. Like he wanted Molly to catch him."

Sherlock grasped John by his upper arms. "We will never know why a creature like that would choose such a way to end his life and, you know what? I'm content with not knowing, just this one time. If you get too far into this other world, you will never be the same. You'll stop being the man I love."

John's head jerked back, his eyes wide open. "You've never said that before."

"What?"

"That you love me."

"Of course I have."

John shook his head and tried ineffectively to hide his delighted grin. "You've never said it."

"S'not my fault that you happened to not be in the room when it happens." Sherlock tried to look stern, but John's smile was rather contagious. "But you're smiling, so clearly this is information that you like."

"Well, yeah, I mean, you know what? Come here." John reached up and pulled Sherlock's head down.

Sherlock smiled into the kiss. Though he wanted to pull John closer and fully explore his mouth, he could only imagine what Molly had planned for the beaten Djinn. Reluctantly stepping back, he took John by the hand. "Let's go home."

While John accepted his hand and slowly walked out of the forest, his mind still fixated on the Djinn's expression. Sure, he had done his research and knew that Djinns died eventually. So why would one be so eager to welcome an untimely death? He looked over to Sherlock and studied the man's profile. Sherlock looked pensive and almost bothered by whatever he was thinking of. It took all of 1.2 seconds for Sherlock to notice he was being watched. While still staring ahead, he spoke. "I can feel you worrying. I'm merely trying to remember which route to take."

Sherlock observed the tension leave John's body.  _I must be getting better at lying._  He concluded. Yes, Sherlock was indeed trying to remember the best path back, but there was something else weighing on his mind. John had been correct in assuming he had been caught on purpose. John merely thought Victor was ready to face death, Sherlock knew better though. Once he was able to see the Djinn, he knew immediately the creature was in deep mourning. Back when he originally terrorized Molly, Victor aligned himself with darker allies. However one small act changed his mind.

Sherlock was not the only one who had recently fallen in love.

Judging by the self-mutilation on the upper arm, Sherlock surmised that the allies the Djinn had turned his back on had sought out retribution by killing the his love. The area on the upper arm must have been a marking which signified such an alliance, suggesting a ring. Surely such a group would not be content to know how the Djinn met his end willingly. It would only be a matter of time before they would come after Sherlock and Molly. John would be used as bait, a bargaining chip. A logical man would seek to end his relationship upon such a realization. However, Sherlock was smarter than the average man. It would not matter if John was still his or not, they would still use his death to bring pain to Sherlock. As they approached the edge of the woods, Sherlock glanced over at John. A sense of amusement and wonder settled over him as he tried to picture John at the hands of such creatures. John would be no ordinary victim, he would fight tooth and nail and once his enemies are convinced they have won, that's when he would come back and kill them all.

Just as Sherlock was gauging the amount of time they would have before facing the unknown allies, John reached up and kissed him again. "I'm ready." He breathed against the taller man's mouth.

The implications of those two words hit Sherlock hard. Apparently John had also come to some sudden realizations on that walk. Clutching at John's jacket, Sherlock broke the kiss and buried his face into the blonde hair. "Are you sure this isn't some post-adrenaline rush need for more adventure? This is for life, John. I'll never let you go."

John chuckled and held onto Sherlock just as tightly. "I've never been more certain." He tilted his head up and looked Sherlock in the eye. "I love you and I want to be your mate."

Sherlock started to laugh out of disbelief and elation. He looked around. They had made it to the road where they had left the car. Sherlock began to imagine the measurements of the backseat as hundreds of sexual positions filled his head. "Right now?"

"Jesus, Sherlock!" John grinned both at the hopeful look on his mate's face as well as the abrupt erection that had grown within seconds. "I'm not that young anymore. I want to be in our bed when this happens, not pawing at each other in the car like a couple of randy teenagers."

Mildly disappointed but mostly in planning mode, Sherlock pulled John towards the vehicle. "Then let's stop banging on about it and get back to Baker Street!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I left it right there! Stay tuned for the next smut-tastic chapter.
> 
> Do your good deed for the day and leave a review. 
> 
> However, I think I will post one more chapter and call this story complete. I might add some fluffy one-shots from time to time, but after I finished with this chapter, I might have run out of plot on this one


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT!

The ride home was excruciating.

Sherlock tried to focus on the road. He really did. But when he was seated next to the man who just accepted to be his mate, one tends to get a bit distracted. Being a man of above intelligence, he already took this into account and made adjustments to accommodate such diversions. However, there were so many times he could pull over to the side of the road and snog John senseless before the doctor began to complain. Four times, to be precise. "Sherlock," John groaned out. "If we keep pulling over, we'll never get home and I don't want to be arrested. Lestrade would never let us live that down."

John watched as Sherlock pulled away from the passenger seat, put his hands back onto the wheel, and fly back into the street with no more than a glance at traffic. If he hadn't been so desperate to be in Sherlock's bed, he might have complained about the near death experiences. But neither seemed to be in their rights minds, which had to excuse the excessive speeding, the cutting off other cars, and the general lack of common driving courtesy, right?

Finally, they pulled up to Baker Street. Sherlock threw open the door and practically ripped John from his seat as well. With shaking hands, John tried to unlock the door while Sherlock was cemented against his back. "John." Sherlock moaned as he captured the doctor's earlobe between his teeth. "I do not want to instruct you on what to do with your life but could you please hurry this along?"

Finally, the key slid into the lock. "Yeah, trying to do that, but it's hard with you nearly shagging me on the doorstep!"

Replacing his teeth with his tongue, Sherlock whispered. "If you don't have this door open in three seconds, I might actually resort to that."

Flinging the door open, John turned and grabbed Sherlock by the lapel of his jacket. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Sherlock pushed John against the door and crushed their mouths together.

It wasn't so much a kiss as a fight for dominance using teeth, tongue, and lips. More like biting, with two winners. John eagerly reciprocated as he brought his hand down to Sherlock's erection. Instantly, Sherlock slapped his hands away. "Can't." He moaned wildly. "Too close."

"Forget the stairs, then." John grunted. "Fuck me now."

Whatever rational intelligence Sherlock was clinging to suddenly evaporated. His need to claim the older man raged forward as he fumbled with John's belt. But there was something ticking at the back of his mind. Something irritating, but comforting at the same time. What was it? "Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock shouted. "She's coming back from her sister's and should be arriving any moment."

John's propriety won over his lust, somehow. They untangled and ran up the stairs. Throwing open the door, Sherlock took John's hands. "Don't stop walking. We need to get to my bedroom."

John nodded in fervent agreement. But that did not stop him from taking off his jacket and jumper. Sherlock noticed the movements and enthusiastically followed suit, thanking science for his sudden stroke of luck. By the time they arrived in Sherlock's room, they were both stark naked. John dropped onto the mattress. "Lube?" He asked breathlessly.

Just as Sherlock was reaching to the nightstand drawer, he heard a knock at the door. At first, he thought he could ignore it, but as a second round of taps rang out, he groaned. "Why now?"

"It's fine." John amended. "Just find out who it is and get rid of them."

Sherlock was about to reach for his dressing gown but quickly forgot how to move when John wrapped his hand around his throbbing prick. Every neuron in his brain was screaming at him to cover the man and fuck him senseless. "Sherlock!" John yelled out. "Get the door!"

Right, the knocking. Sherlock scooped the fabric up and threw it over him. He opened the door to find Mrs. Hudson standing with a bag. "I thought you boys would want some of the treats I baked up with Margaret…" Her words were cut short as Sherlock snatched it out of her hands.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. This is lovely, but if you don't mind, I'm about to shag John's brains out. You might want to put on some earplugs and take your herbal soother early." Sherlock shut the door on his landlady's shocked expression.

Dropping the bag on the table, Sherlock walked back to the bedroom and was greeted by the visual of John sprawled on his back and working a finger in and out of his arse, the bottle of lube was right next to his left hip. Sherlock hurdled onto the bed and quickly replaced John's finger with his own, adding a second within moments. John sat up and grabbed the bottle again. He dumped more onto Sherlock's hand, which Sherlock started to work onto his fingers. John then rubbed some onto Sherlock's dripping cock before falling back onto the mattress and pulling Sherlock's hips closer. "Now." He pleaded.

"Not yet, you're still too tight." Sherlock countered.

He added a third finger and John cried out as they slid over his prostate. Though Sherlock did not want to hurt John, he was practically vibrating with the need to slide his aching dick into his mate. The second he was quite certain that John was stretched out enough, Sherlock removed his fingers. John whimpered at the sudden feeling of emptiness and moved his hips back, seeking a connection. Sherlock would have chuckled if he wasn't panting and eagerly lining his cock up against John's entrance. "I know, John,  _I know._ " He managed to whisper.

John gripped Sherlock's hips as he felt the head of the detective's prick push into his opening. Even being stretched with three fingers, John still felt a slight burn as Sherlock drove further into him. John forced himself to relax and feel the weighty sensation of having his arse filled with his flatmate's cock. Finally, what felt like minutes later, John finally felt Sherlock stop pushing. Pausing to help John adjust, Sherlock then pulled almost completely out before thrusting back inside. Both men gasped at the feeling. Sherlock tried to slowly work his way in and out of John's arse, but John was not so easily persuaded. Digging his fingers in, John leaned up until he was mere centimetres from Sherlock's face. "Stop treating me like some delicate flower and fuck me." He growled.

"Gladly." Sherlock replied as he moved his hips faster.

Satisfied, John leaned back. He tucked his knees up as far as he could, which wasn't nearly as close to his chest as he wanted it to be, but he was getting older, dammit. As Sherlock thrusted in deep and powerful strokes, John quickly lost most of his senses and could only focus on the white heat that was slowly building in his core. Distantly, he heard wanton moaning and keening but was too focused on his pleasure to care.

Sherlock was nearly delirious at the sounds John was making. The moment he was certain he could not fuck John any harder without hurting the man, John moaned out for more. Without breaking his powerful thrusts, Sherlock covered John with his body. He licked at the junction between his neck and shoulder, his new favorite spot. Groaning at the salty taste of sweat, Sherlock changed the movements of his hips to short and fast strokes, aiming to rub against John's prostate. As John's moans turned into frantic cries, Sherlock sank his teeth into John's skin, creating a bond bite.

"Ouch!" John yelped.

Confused, Sherlock shot his head up, his hair was a wild mess of curls. "Do we need more lube?"

"No!"

"Then what's wrong?"

"Sherlock, you bit me!" John reached up to poke at the wound.

"Of course I bit you." Sherlock's voice was calm if not still a little muddled. "I needed to finish the bond."

"You could have warned me." John sounded less angry. "Do you have to do that again or is it just the one?"

"Just the one time, I promise."

Sherlock was anxious to continue, but was unsure of John's reaction. In an attempt to placate his mate, Sherlock curled around the man and nuzzled into his neck, licking the bleeding area in apology.

John settled his hands back on Sherlock's hips. "I'm fine. But stop licking there or you'll get it infected."

Before Sherlock could rattle off some annoying wolf fact about having less bacteria in his mouth than the average man, John rolled his hips up. "I believe we were in the midst of something quite important." He smiled as Sherlock's attention whipped back to his anatomy, which was still nestled deeply inside John.

Sherlock resumed driving into John, making sure to hit his prostate on each push in. He then wrapped his hand around John's leaking cock and stroked in the same rhythm as his pistoning hips. Tamping down his urge to explode in John, Sherlock thrust harder and forgot any sense of rhythm. He had to make John come. Now.

Though John had protested the bite, it seems to have spurred his arousal further. Sherlock felt him tilt his hips higher and watched as his face flushed. At this point, neither man could be bothered to enunciate any type of word. The room was filled with sounds of heavy breathing, moaning, and skin slapping together. Sherlock's legs began to shake as he fought back his orgasm. "John, please." He bit out. "I'm so close."

"Fuck, me too. Just a bit more…oh god, right there!" John squeezed his eyes shut and cried out as he came.

Sherlock felt the muscles in John's hole contract around his cock and the warmness of John's cum between their stomachs and chests. He could not hold back anymore as he buried his face into John's shoulder and surrendered to his orgasm. The intensity of his release was profound. He knew that finally mating with John would be all-consuming, but he thought he had already experienced the pleasure when John used his hands or mouth on him. But the bond made it so much stronger. His desire for John had combined with the completeness of their union to the point where John's pleasure became Sherlock's. Looking down at him, Sherlock noticed John panting with a dazed look on his face. Sherlock surmised the bond strengthened the sensations for him as well. Nearly purring with satisfaction, Sherlock kissed John softly and wondered if he would ever get his fill of this man. Hopefully not.

Sated, Sherlock eased his softening prick out. Without breaking the embrace, he curled around John's side and nosed at the bite. John's eyes fluttered open. "Shit!" he yelled as he ran to the bathroom.

Sherlock already missed the warmth of his mate before John even made it to the sink. He followed the doctor at a leisurely pace, of course, and watched with amusement as John fastidiously cleaned and bandaged his neck. "Why would I expect any less from such an esteemed doctor?"

Eyes fixated on applying the last plaster, John responded. "Because nothing screams 'don't trust me' to a patient like a physician with an oozing wound on the side of his neck."

He made short work of straightening up once he was finished tending to his bite. John looked into the mirror and watched Sherlock stare back. Gazing at the lanky and most definitely still naked man, John idly wondered how he managed to capture Sherlock's undivided attention. Sherlock's reflection raised an eyebrow. "Stop that."

Startled, John turned around to face him. "Stop what?"

"Stop thinking you aren't good enough. It's untrue and insults us both." Sherlock pushed himself off of the doorframe and walked back into the bedroom. "And come back to bed."

"I really do need to learn how he is able to read my bloody mind." John muttered to himself as he followed his mate.

Settling back into bed, Sherlock curled against John's back. He felt a bit of tension still in John's back and sighed. "You might as well tell me what is weighing on your mind."

John lifted Sherlock's hand and pressed it to his mouth, hoping the soft kiss might alleviate his apprehension. "So it's done, then?"

Sherlock buried his face in John's hair, breathing in his scent. "If by It, you mean our bond, then yes,  _it's_  done."

"We're properly mated?"

"Oh for god's sake, John. I've already answered this."

"Humour me."

"Yes, we're properly mated. I am bound to you for life and vice versa. I will want no other living being as long as you are around and even if you pass, I will spend the rest of my years mourning you. This is becoming tedious, John, are you satisfied?" Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around John in case the older man grew weary of Sherlock's tone and tried to escape.

Since John was facing away from Sherlock, he didn't even try to hide his delighted grin. Even though he already knew the answer, he had wanted the words to come out of Sherlock's mouth. Still, he had to wipe the pompous tone out of the detective's voice, lest he assumes it would be appropriate behavior. "You know, you sounded awfully similar to your brother just then."

As Sherlock's body stiffened, John knew his well-aimed barb hit exactly where he intended.

"I cannot imagine any other reason for you to bring up Mycroft in our bed than in an unconscious desire to have him in here with you. If you excuse me, I can send him a message relaying your hidden yearnings. Knowing my brother, he will be over promptly." Sherlock rolled off the bed and walked towards his mobile. "Better yet, I shall call him."

John could only imagine Mycroft's face when he sees an incoming call from Sherlock. He would positively….wait, Sherlock is telling Mycroft what? John popped up to his knees and threw a pillow towards Sherlock. "I was just kidding, you berk."

Sherlock lifted one finger to hush John. "Not so loud, I think he's picking up." He plastered a fake smile as Mycroft answered. "Mycroft, how are you? I have John here who is just  _dying_  to give you a bit of news."

Holding out the phone, Sherlock's expression was one of ultimate innocence had the edges of his mouth were not quivering with exertion of holding back a laugh. John glared at the man as he accepted the proffered mobile. As Sherlock leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow raised, John mouthed "I am going to make you pay so dearly for his" before speaking into the phone. "Hello Mycroft."

"John. This is not a good time. I already know of the finished case so if that is why you…"

"That's not what I wanted to say." John cut off Mycroft, earning an appreciative nod from Sherlock. "I have reconsidered my relations with your brother and I have found him to be less than desirable." John winked at Sherlock. "He simply cannot measure up to you. Yes, you, the light of my being. You are the jam to my toast. If you do not return my admirations, I feel as though I should leave England. Perhaps even Europe in its entirety just to escape the pain of your rejection."

Sherlock had not moved an inch since the beginning of John's faux confessions. Had it not been for the slight widening of his eyes, John would have thought Sherlock had not heard a word. Mycroft was equally as silent. John began to reconsider the choices he had made in the last minute or so. Finally, Mycroft spoke.

"John?" His voice sounded highly unamused.

"Yes, my love?"

"Prank calls are for children. Try this again and I will end you."

A soft click indicated to John that Mycroft had hung up on him. He threw the phone back. "I don't think he likes me very much." John whispered. "And I'm pretty sure he will not be coming by for tea anytime soon."

Sherlock had yet to move. He just continued to gape. "I cannot believe you actually did that." He said softly. "I mean, I realized what you were up to the moment you accepted the phone. It was obvious from the deep breath you took before speaking and how you kept glancing at me to make sure I knew that you were not serious. But I didn't actually think you would  _do_  that."

John leaned back until he was seated against the headboards. "Never underestimate my ability to escalate a situation. Now get your arse back into bed and try not to talk to me like I'm an idiot."

After taking a moment, Sherlock sauntered back and slid between the sheets. "Not my fault." He muttered. "You were the one who insisted on asking the same question twice."

"Would you get off my back about it if I told you that I asked twice just out of disbelief?"

Sherlock took a moment to consider the question. "Perhaps. Why would you doubt the finality of our bond so soon?"

"I don't know, it just seemed to, you know, easy. You're talking about us being together in terms of a lifetime. Surely there should have been a little more work to that."

Shrugging, Sherlock slid closer to John, re-establishing the physical contact they had mere minutes ago. "And a legal marriage is simply the act of signing your name on a document. Everything else is just whimsical fluff that others add under the guise of a celebration."

John happily settled against Sherlock and rested one hand on the arm currently wrapped around him. "But marriage is work. People actually need to constantly reaffirm their commitment to each other or else it falls apart."

"And so do we. There will be times when we won't be able to stand each other, especially since you're with me. But there will also be spectacular, earth-shattering moments as well. I want all of that with you. Our bonding is just a way to start that life together, that's why it seems so simple." Sherlock fought the urge to nose at the bond bite, knowing John would protest until it is fully healed, but he desperately wanted to comfort his mate. "I don't know what else I can do to prove my utter devotion to you."

John twisted around until he was looking into Sherlock's eyes. "I don't know how to show you that I'm just as invested in us as you are. Then again, we have plenty of time to figure that out, don't we?"

Sherlock kissed John, the only answer he knew how to give at the moment. John smiled as he eased back. "And who knew that you, Sherlock Holmes, would be such a sentimental fool?"

"Oh shut up and go to sleep, you aren't much better." Sherlock's gruff tone was softened by the pleased sigh that escaped him moments later as John burrowed closer.

 


End file.
